


Gardens Beyond Byzantium

by Snowgrouse



Series: Of Roses Unfurling [4]
Category: Original Work, Thief of Bagdad (1940), كتاب ألف ليلة وليلة | Kitaab 'alf layla wa-layla | One Thousand and One Nights
Genre: Alternate History, Anal Gaping, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Anal Sex (female receiving), Anal-oral, Ass tasting, Ass to Mouth, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Byzantine Empire, Byzantinebatch, Christian Character, Cross-cultural, Crossdressing, Cultural Differences, Cultural References, Culture Shock, Culture with casual male bisexuality, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, F/M, Felching, Fellatio, Genital Shaving, Healing Sex, Het and Slash, Heterosexual Anal Sex (female receiving), Historical, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Homosexual Anal Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Interracial Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Married Couple, Medieval Medicine, Middle Ages, Multi, Muslim characters, OC played by Benedict Cumberbatch (Theo), Open Relationships, Oral Sex, POV Bisexual Character, Period Attitudes Towards Sexuality and Gender, Persia, Polyamory, Queer Het, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Orientation, Spanking, Squirting, Submissive Female Character, Switching, The Golden Age of Islam, The Thousand And One Nights - Freeform, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, ass to other person's mouth, costume porn, flip flop, heterosexual anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowgrouse/pseuds/Snowgrouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Once upon a time, he must have been the most beautiful of youths, but it was the man in him I wanted: you remember my foolish attempt to lure him to my bedchamber with the promise of a boy. Even if it was I who had wanted to play the boy to him, to taste the kiss of a moustachioed, stubbled face, to feel his adult man's weight settling between my legs. And now, he was offering me his wife, it seemed; was keen to devour us both.</i>
</p><p>The Byzantine ambassador returns to visit Jaffar and his queen and is enamoured of them both. It is one thing to desire a king and his queen, but another to show it--could acting upon his desire mean losing his head?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gardens Beyond Byzantium

**Author's Note:**

> The fourth entry in the Of Roses Unfurling series. Quite different from the others as this is all from the POV of the Byzantine--yes, the fellow who looks strikingly like Benedict Cumberbatch. A world of debaucheries ensues.

**From Theodoros of Constantinople to Isidore of Nicaea**

My dear brother,

A thousand greetings and blessings; I hope that you are well. You asked me how life and the Caliph had treated me in Baghdad and presently, I shall tell you, promising not to omit a single detail. But first, I must ask you to take out the scroll I gave you, for again I find I must write to you in cipher. I apologise for burdening you with the effort of transcription, but from my previous letters of such nature, you will understand why this is necessary. 

Are you ready? Then I shall begin.

You have heard me describe the manners of the Caliph's court, of the Persian ways and customs many times now--to the point of exhaustion, I am sure. You know of my love for this land and its people, its poetry and its sciences. You know how often I have compared the Persian to the Roman and how I have found the latter wanting. You have seen and heard how even I, Byzantium's ambassador, the one who should be praising mighty Rome to the heavens, finds himself singing the glories of the Caliphate instead. I remember how you once joked that one day I would convert myself to their faith, take a Persian wife and never return to Constantinople. Well, my brother, it is no joking matter, for I find myself becoming more Persian than Roman with each passing day. But whatever I may feel in my heart, it is the Emperor to whose service I am bound. Until he decrees otherwise, an ambassador I shall remain.

But it is now that I write to you less as an ambassador and more as a man. For none of the fairytales you have heard were ever as strange as my recent adventures in Baghdad's court, and I would share them with someone I can trust. 

I have told you of some of the people I have met, but let me now describe them in depth, to give you a more precise and accurate portrait of the rulers of this land.

The Commander of the Faithful himself is an imposing man; taller than most, even taller than I, commanding obedience the very moment he strides into the room. Unlike the Caliphs who came before him, he is of Persian rather than Arabic descent. Judging by the striking pale colour of his eyes, one is certain his mother must have been one of the fair creatures of the Caucasus the courtiers here so like to take as slaves. One cannot forget those vast blue eyes, sharp and keen under heavy black brows: oftentimes, his piercing stare has followed me into my dreams, as if he were keenly observing each and every person of his court even in their sleep.

He is pleasant enough when the occasion requires it, but harsh with his subjects when justice and order demand it of him. I have seen him send men to the block for the slightest suspicion of treason, have seen him inflict tortures cruel and unusual, but in this I can hardly fault him: the court is full of treacherous characters and brother quickly turns against brother in his thirst for power. In this, Baghdad is hardly different from old Constantinople.

As for the women of the court--what can I tell you, not having seen much of them? They are kept firmly under lock and key, and on those few occasions when they venture out, they are so heavily veiled you cannot tell the mothers from the daughters. This is something they and their husbands take great pride in, to pretend they are a more virtuous lot than the commoners and the slave girls, who are denied the right to cover their heads even for prayer. But having seen what I've seen, my brother, I suspect the veil hides more sins and debaucheries than it pretends to prevent. When you cannot tell the ladies apart, how could you possibly be sure it is the vizier's wife that now knocks on his bedchamber door, or the wife of another? I've witnessed many such scandals. In all my travels, I have found that it is the same the world over: people may differ in their customs, but in the end, they are always ruled by desire. In this the Persian does not differ from the Roman--believe me when I tell you that for certain men, even four wives are not enough.

The shah himself--and this is most exceptional--only has one wife. He tells me he has had many over the years, and slave girls and boys besides, but that now his heart only has room for one queen in it. She is the only woman of the court I have had the pleasure of conversing with, and conversing with her is a pleasure indeed. The women of this land cast their eyes down in front of strange men and tend to let their menfolk do the talking, but my queen--Yassamin of Basra--oh, she is as exceptional as her husband. Whenever the two have invited me to keep them company, she has met my eyes with a boldness not born of arrogance or vulgarity, but pure and utter honesty. And what eyes hers are! Almond-shaped, the colour of honey, just a little crooked in a way that makes her look as if she were always love-struck. Her mouth is full and smiling, as red and lush as pomegranates, set in a face as pale as the moon. Her skin seems soft as peaches, just as her husband had told me, all of her a delicacy. 

Yes, you must have noticed I am talking as if I were love-struck myself: how could I not be, in the face of such beauty? And intelligence, too--like the shah, she is a great lover of books, and you should see her arguing with her husband over the finer points of theology and medicine. Oftentimes they have put me in a tight spot as they've asked me to settle an argument between them. Imagine the times when I have felt she has been in the right, but he has fixed me with eyes like those of an infuriated pard, ready to rip out my throat! I swear I must have come close to losing my head several times by now, for neither of them will be denied.

But I am not a diplomat for nothing. As you can see, I am still alive and well enough to write this letter. You see, it pleases my hosts greatly when I placate them with compliments--to her, in Arabic, to him in his native Persian. In turn, they have complimented me on my voice, she saying I speak Arabic with less of an accent than he. She is right, but of course, she only says this to tease him, to make his eyes flash at her in a mixture of fury and desire. In turn, he apologises to me for his wife's manners, saying he will take the whip to her forthwith. 

But, my brother, the look in her eyes as he so threatens her! She flicks her lashes and makes the moue of a courtesan! Never have I seen the like. It is quite a peculiar game they play, and finding oneself caught between them can make one feel distinctly uncomfortable at times. They flaunt their desire, and one cannot help but be warmed by it, made restless by it, especially when wine has been consumed.

Ah, yes, wine. The forbidden drink. By day, the people preach its evils; by night, they indulge. Especially the rich, and especially when they have a Christian guest. It wouldn't do to offer him poor hospitality, you see, so the finest of wines must be made available at all times, even though these two end up consuming more than myself most nights. It turns their games even bolder, to the point where they outright tease me, trying to see if they can make a fool out of me. 

One such night, when we were all in our cups, she laid her head in his lap--a public display of affection immodest for any woman, but positively _scandalous_ for a queen. The shah, however, but raised his eyebrow and laid his hand upon her veil, stroking her hair through it. 

"Would you fall asleep on me, my love?" he laughed, then looked up at me. "I must apologise. She was complaining of a headache earlier today; she must have had sunstroke."

"Sing for us," she mumbled, then, looking up at me, smiling a drunken smile. I was sitting across from them and to my great shock, she reached out and touched my knee. "He tells me you have a beautiful singing voice. I would learn more love songs, but he--" she shook her head and rolled her eyes at me. "He sounds like a rusty crow," she blurted and burst into laughter.

Before I could respond, he had sunk his hand into her hair, snatching her head up by it, her veil coming loose in his fist. "One more word and I will whip you in front of him." 

It was the strangest, and I must admit, most erotic of sights: she, pulled up against his body, gasping, panting, her breasts heaving until they looked as if they were about to escape her jacket any second. He looked at me over her shoulder, leering, not nearly as angry or as offended as he pretended to be. "She _desires_ you, my friend."

"I do not!" she cried, then fell silent, panting still, closing her eyes in what I presumed to be shame. He but looked at me, waiting for me to make my move.

Now, my brother, what would you have done, said in such a situation? A king and a queen performing some strange love-play in front of you, with your own head as pawn? What was I to do? If he was testing his queen's fidelity, would that mean I was a threat to be disposed of? But if I said I did not find her desirable--which would have been a lie--would they both have taken it as a grave insult? And what of the look I now spied in his eyes? It terrified me, for he was aroused rather than truly jealous, yet now his lust seemed to encompass me as well, swallowing both his queen and myself in its heat. In saying his wife had desired me, it only betrayed that it was _he_ who desired me, I thought, and swallowed thickly.

You and only you know of my secrets, brother, and I trust that you will burn this letter as soon as you have read it, just as you have burnt my previous confessions of this nature. It would be better not to divulge them at all, I know this, but I fear I shall burst if I have to keep completely silent. In this, I seek your sympathy, your understanding as you have given it before, knowing how I have fought with my nature and found it to be stronger than my own resolve. 

How I have fought with my desire towards Jaffar, son of Yahya the Barmakid, the Shah of Persia, the Caliph of Islam ever since the day I had met him, ever since those accursed eyes of his had pierced my heart. For it is a greater sin to desire a grown man than a beardless boy--why, the shah is nearing fifty, his face lined with the wisdom of age. Once upon a time, he must have been the most beautiful of youths, but it was the man in him I wanted: you remember my foolish attempt to lure him to my bedchamber with the promise of a boy. Even if it was I who had wanted to play the boy to him, to taste the kiss of a moustachioed, stubbled face, to feel his adult man's weight settling between my legs.

And now, he was offering me his wife, it seemed, was keen to devour us both: the way he held her made me shiver as I imagined myself being held in such a manner by him. I am a diplomat, this is true, but my prick was less so, raising its head in approval. I shifted in my seat, trying to pull my robes tighter about myself to disguise my state.

Finally, he let go of her hair with a soft caress, apologising to her, capturing her mouth with a kiss. She forgave him quickly, proving she had been enjoying the game: she answered his kiss with a moan, moving against him in such an impassioned fashion I did not know where to look. The wisest option in this situation, it seemed to me, was to spread my hands in a placating gesture, to distract them as best as I could.

"My king. My queen. What would you have me read?"

"Something in Arabic," he said, "for my wife is right." He held her head to his chest, smiling. "You do recite it more beautifully than I."

I took one more sip of wine for courage, cleared my throat and began. I knew of their taste for Abu Nuwas, but none of the bawdy pieces tonight. Something more suited to the occasion, I thought, something that would convey to them my own feelings, too. After all, it is their custom: it is through the sharp wit or beauty of verse that a poet is allowed to express even his frankest thoughts to a king. Immediately, I recalled the verse Nuwas had composed upon seeing his Caliph swimming, realising that he secretly desired his master.

 _"I am in love, but cannot say with whom,"_ I recited while moving my gaze from the shah to his queen and back again, making it deliberately vague as to which one of them I was addressing. _"I fear the one who fears no one!"_ But Nuwas, too, knew his desire could never be consummated if he valued his life. _"When I think about the one I love, I feel for my head--and wonder if it is still attached to my body!"_ With this line, I cast my eyes down, certain that the shah, drunk or not, must have understood my message.

He but smiled enigmatically, and it was now she who leaned forwards to refill my cup, her hand a little unsteady from drunkenness. "Your voice is indeed most pleasing, my lord Theodoros. It reminds me of an old friend of mine. You see, when I was a little girl, my father used to keep a pet tiger. He was so tame I could climb onto his back, use him as a living pillow. Sometimes I would even fall into a doze upon him, lulled to sleep by his rumbling." 

"And is it _his_ rumbling lap you would fall asleep in tonight, wife?" the shah said, lightly, with an edge of true jealousy to his voice. 

She merely refilled her own cup and leaned back into his arms, even more lasciviously than before. She lifted her hand to his face, stroking his high cheek with a slow tenderness. She gazed into his eyes for a long while, with such such sincerity that even underneath all her drunken coquetry, one could never doubt her love for him. "I also had a pet cheetah. Lean, deadly, with eyes that burned in the night, dearer to my heart than any other creature. It was that beast I shared my bed with on cold winter nights."

"What became of your cats, shahbanu?" I asked, curious. 

"It is a tale of much heartbreak and woe," she warned, yet with the excitement of a seasoned storyteller sparking in her eyes. 

The shah leaned back, curious himself. "Come; we would hear it."

"The beasts were always kept apart from each other. When she was not keeping us company, the cheetah would spend her days in the harem's courtyard, tethered to a pillar. The tiger had his own separate house in the harem's garden, with high walls and heavy doors. And there he lived like a prince, surrounded by his very own servants who came to tend to him every morning and evening." 

"But one spring, the cheetah grew restless. She would chirp and cry, sing with such terrible longing in her voice even the minstrel-girls would feel pity for her and declare her as one of their kind. She would lay her head on every woman's lap and demand caresses, sigh from so deep within her chest that it was as if she should expire any moment. Her heart was broken, my aunt said, wiping the corner of her eye with her veil, clearly lost in memories herself."

"The beast was now useless as a hunting-pard, having lost its taste for the gazelle; my father even threatened to have her put out of her misery. I had to plead on her behalf, vowing I would heal her. I read every book I could find on veterinary medicine, consulted every cheetah trainer, yet they all told me an animal's heat would pass with time and that there was nothing to be done about it. She had scented another great cat and without ever having seen him, had developed a burning love for him. But such love-madness only lasted for a short while in animals--in this, God had been more merciful to them than he had been to us, in that they could soon forget their passions. Nature would take its course, I was told; she would forget her invisible lover. But what if she should die from a lack of food, of sleep?"

"I, the foolish, foolish girl I was, had decided. One day, when the entire palace was asleep in the noonday heat, I made my way to the courtyard and loosened the cheetah's leash. 'Go,' I told her, 'Go and seek your love.' And she understood me, as she had always understood me. Softly, she trotted out of the courtyard, following the scent trail to the garden, all the way to the tiger house. There were no tiger-keepers present at this hour, there never were, so I unlocked the door and withdrew to the roof of the house to watch."

"Naughty girl," the shah purred under his breath. 

She shook her head. "As soon as I saw them together, I regretted my actions. For he was three times her size, dwarfing her underneath his shadow. I had expected kisses, and those they did now exchange, butting heads, but I had not been prepared for violence. For she danced around him, swatted at him with her paws until his whiskers were stained with blood. Quick, lithe, she kept on teasing him thus until with a deep, low roar, he finally overcame her. In horror, I watched as he mounted her, bit into her neck--he could have crushed her entire head in his jaws and I feared for her life! She mewled, she _screamed_ in terror and I saw what for: from his lower belly, an appendage of monstrous size, like some horrendous extra limb was now pressing against the entrance to her body. Slowly, slowly he sank into her, crushing her with his weight and she laid still, panting, staring into the distance. 

'Stop!' I screamed, realising my mistake, 'You will slay her!' but the beast did not stop. On and on he rutted, purring, growling, his heavy sack swinging underneath his tail, my sweet cheetah's screams weakening as he took his pleasure of her. Was this what the males of all species were like? Was this why my father had guarded me so jealously, knowing this was what men would do to me? Why, I would rather marry a djinni. Thus, I thought to myself and from that day on, a deadly fear towards all men filled my heart."

"No wonder you once thought all men were beasts," her husband said quietly, stroking her hand.

"When the tiger had finished, he rolled onto his side, grunting, licking his chops. The cheetah lay pressed against the ground, panting, its tail stiff, trembling. There was blood upon her neck, blood upon her tail and I wondered if he had bruised her insides beyond repair. I prayed to God for forgiveness, for having brought about such a perverse union, one Nature would never have devised herself. Was my cheetah in dying throes, I wondered?" 

"To my great astonishment, she was everything but. She picked herself off the ground, made her way to her ravisher and licked his face. For all the pain he had given her, she _loved him,_ now purring so loudly I could hear the sound echoing against the wall of the tiger house. With a few more playful swats, she sunk into a tussle with him, them both grunting and licking and kissing each other, rolling upon the ground in ecstasies. Finally, they laid down upon the ground sated, spent; her head resting upon his belly as if she hadn't a care in the world."

"Surely, that is a happy ending?" I ventured.

Again she shook her head, pale. "My father found out. I was given a sound thrashing and the animals were separated once more, the tiger sold off to a new owner. The cheetah, now having known her beloved and knowing she could never see him again, laid down in her corner in the courtyard and refused to move. Thus, she continued for days, refusing food and water. I cried and pleaded for them to reunite the lovers but it was of no use: they feared they might spawn some demon cat, some freakish monster that would devour all of Basra. It was too dangerous, they told me, and against Nature. I could only hold my cheetah as she lay there upon the cold marble, weep into her fur as she drew her last breaths, dying of a broken heart."

She grew quiet; tears threatened to fall out of her eyes, their honey now darker from remembered sorrow. All I could offer was a heartfelt murmur of consolation. "My lady. I am sorry."

The shah said nothing. He only embraced the queen from behind, hugged her against his body, kissing her neck gently. He held her, cared for her with such tenderness it was a sight, I thought, more shockingly intimate than the cruel way he had held her against his body before. That cruelty had been frivolous play, but this was far more serious, real: I no longer felt threatened, but privileged to witness the depth of their love in this fashion. 

However, that sensation was short-lived as he coaxed a sweeter, more agreeable mood out of her with the soft caresses of his hands. And what hands! I had been observing them at play before, so elegant, so long-fingered; large, but infinitely delicate. With an astonishing firmness and care, he kneaded at her shoulders and her waist, with the experience of a lover who knows where to touch his beloved to bring about the best of humours in her. As his fingertips ventured to her neck and pressed into that peach-soft, pale flesh of her throat, I found myself swallowing, as if those hands were upon my own throat instead--or if, indeed, I was the one feeling her pulse quickening under my touch. Soon, their kisses became more passionate, her gasps no longer those of sorrow but of renewed desire. 

He chuckled, _chuckled,_ glanced at me like a teacher making sure a pupil is paying attention, then focused his eyes upon her once more. He brought one hand to her breast, tilting her head backwards towards himself. "Give me your tongue."

And to my astonishment, she obeyed as if she were a pet herself: she looked straight into his eyes, opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. With a warm, hungry huff, he leaned down and closed his lips around her tongue to _suck upon it._ God have mercy upon me; I could not help but think of a pageboy sucking at his master's prick, such was the skill with which he sucked her tongue--he bobbed his head, tilted it slowly to and fro, _slurping_ a little. The noise disgusted me, but I was rapt, as you can imagine: my taking of a slave boy in front of him had been nothing compared to the sheer lewdness I now saw unfolding before my eyes. She wailed into his kiss, shaking from arousal and what must also have been shame at being so ravished in the presence of their guest. 

Yes, and what of their guest? I all but moaned, suffocating my noise into my sleeve, my prick leaping against the fabric of my robes. I pressed my fist into my lap, trying to hold my erection down, but my body won the fight. At the pressure, my cock hardened even further, now so full I could not possibly move without giving away my state. Yet I knew I would have to take my leave, a sudden panic bourgeoning inside me.

"My lord, my lady, I--it is late. I should retire to bed."

At first, I was not sure if the shah had heard me, for he continued to suck upon his wife's tongue as if it were a sweetmeat. After a particularly sharp cry from her, he finally withdrew, short of breath, his eyes gleaming. "Yes. Yes, I rather think we should all retire to bed," he chuckled, then turned to his queen. "You run along, my sweet." He dropped a heavy kiss on her lips. "I shall join you presently."

She gave him a long, hard, considering look but made no protest; with a kiss of her own, she took her leave of us. When the tinkling of her anklets had faded into the distance, he leaned towards me, his face inches from mine, the fumes of wine hot and heavy upon his breath. "Quite the minx, isn't she?"

"I--I must confess you caught me off guard, my king. But trust me when I say that I am awed by the love my king and my queen possess for each other. Never have I seen a royal couple so genuinely happy." 

He nodded. "Less than a year we've been married, and already she has made me her slave." He paused for a while, measuring me with his eyes. His gaze lingered upon my body and I shifted restlessly, certain that he could sense my arousal, but deliberately chose not to mention it. "However, I must apologise for her behaviour. When the wine goes into her head, she becomes the lewdest of creatures. If anything, I should blame myself for so debauching her; the drunken wanton you witnessed was a creature of my own crafting. She came to my bed a quivering virgin, fearing all men. The greedy man I was, I wanted to change that, wanted in my bed a wife who enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh as much as I did. Thus, I set out to educate her in the arts of love, on all the various wiles with which to drive a man mad with desire--and tonight, you saw the fruits of my labours. She means no harm by her words; I imagine she is merely testing whether those wiles work on you. I suggest you take it in your stride and forget about it come morning."

"My lord, I do not even know what it is that you speak of," I smiled. "It is as if I have forgotten." I was giddy, giddy with gladness that he was not truly jealous; that my head was still firmly attached to my neck and might even remain that way.

He clasped my shoulder. "You are a fine man, Theodoros; I knew it from the moment I met you." 

I bowed. "You are the kindest and most forgiving of men, King of Kings."

He took one last look at me, his gaze again lingering upon my groin. "To an extent." And in his sharp-toothed grin, in the glimmer of his eyes I sensed a hunger: she had compared him to a cheetah, but now it was as if he were the tiger and I the she-cheetah, frozen under his stare. Then, with a little laugh, he withdrew and bade me good night.

All night, I tossed and turned, dreamt of great cats copulating, tearing each other to pieces.

***

The next morning, I overheard them, quite by accident. Our good Emperor had asked me to describe to him the opulence of the Persian palaces he had heard so many stories of, so I had been wandering the corridors with a scribe's tools at the ready, noting down various architectural details. I had paused at a magnificent latticed window, its pattern that of the world tree and its branches curling and curving into intricately carved arabesques. I had only just sat down to sketch it, when I heard her voice from the small courtyard on the other side of the window.

"Do you desire the Byzantine?" she asked, slightly out of breath. 

He laughed nervously. "I should be asking you the same question, wife."

"You told me of him and the boy."

"Yes, and I remember you relishing that tale," he said, and judging by the shifting shadows outside, I sensed that he was pressing against her, perhaps embracing her. "And if I am not mistaken, have yearned for us to revisit a particularly dangerous Byzantine pleasure ever since. Is it because I have refused to give it to you that you now turn your wicked eyes to him, my Babylonian?"

"No," she said quietly. "I love you and shall never love anyone else, you know that. Trust me when I say no one could ever compare. I cannot even comprehend the thought of anyone else in my heart, for you have filled it to the overflowing."

There was silence as I saw their shadows merge, until he finally let out a soft sigh. "Then trust me in turn. You saw our marriage contract; saw that I swore to take no other wives. The Prophet himself said a man should not take more than one wife if he could not treat all equally. I once told you that of all the women in the world, I could only see you, and that still holds true."

"And what of men?"

"Did you not find him attractive?"

"Stop replying to my questions with further questions, husband. If you must know, I felt a flash of desire, but only that of the flesh. It was my sex that spoke, not my heart. It is not a desire I cannot resist. And what of _you?_ Coming to my bedroom as keen as Priapus after you'd snatched a few moments alone with him? I wish you would not lie to me, Jaffar. I know you were a sodomite, and carry that nature within you still."

"He is a beautiful man."

"He has the face of a horse."

"And other parts of a horse besides," he quipped, and I heard her burst into hysterical laughter. I peeked through the lattice and she was bent in half in his arms while he tickled her like a boy-child tickles his sister: soon, they were both panting, heaving from laughter. I did not know whether to be flattered or insulted. It wasn't the first time I had been called horselike in the face; this was too familiar to wound me. But that my privates would be the topic of their discussion--oh, it was worse than fearing losing my head. What if they should be the part of me that got lopped off as the result of their games? Half the civil servants here are eunuchs, but I did not fancy joining their ranks just yet. Thus, I made myself very small--not easy for a man of my height--and kept on listening. 

"Jaffar!" she laughed again, breathless.

He hugged her and groaned, still more amused than angry. "To think of it. We both feel lust for the same man. Each of us loves the other and knows nothing can come between that love. Our hearts and souls belong to one another, that is for certain. What is there to stop our bodies from enjoying him for a while?"

"For one, the threat of pregnancy. You would not want a ginger bastard roaming the palace, I expect."

"You know the vices he prefers; I don't think we need fear pregnancy from those. If his prick so much as dips into your mound, however, I will have his head."

She let out an incredulous laugh. "Are we talking lovemaking or butchery, Jaffar?"

"I apologise."

"Are you sure you want to draw him into this? I already have the one husband God has allotted me, and he is the best of husbands. Would he now take his wife by the hand and lead her into adultery?" Her tone was playful, but neither he or I could mistake the serious concern that lay underneath it. And in that moment I knew her to be a good woman, a pious woman underneath the coquette; her heart was made of gold, there was no question about it.

He moved to stand behind her and lifted her veil, lifted her hair to kiss the nape of her neck. I could barely hear his words, so soft they were against her skin: "God forgives those who repent, and once the criminal has suffered her _punishment_ , she is forgiven."

She shuddered in his arms, but it was not entirely from fear, I thought. It was something stranger than that, something akin to what I had seen when he had so cruelly pulled on her hair. Yes, it was if a ripple of arousal had run through her as she pressed her back against his body. "The punishment for adultery is one hundred lashes," she whispered. 

"Yes," he purred, one hand sliding to her breast, one hand sliding between her legs. "And I shall administer them myself." 

For all my debaucheries, I had never seen anything as perverse as the way she now _convulsed_ between his hands. She moaned out loud, moaned as he curled his hand between her legs, as he squeezed her breast. "Over a week or two, wife; I am nothing if not merciful. Perhaps ten lashes each night; perhaps more if you behave well."

She whimpered in his arms, pulled at his turban until she could claim his mouth with a hungry kiss. "And what of you, husband?" she panted as she pulled back. "Shall I take the whip to you as well?"

"I demand that you do," he panted in turn. "Nay, I _command_ it."

Such utter perversion, and how they relished it! I could not bear it any longer; I gathered my things and swiftly departed to my quarters. By the time I could lock the door behind myself, I was panting against it, not sure what to think. It was as if they wanted me to become their toy, their plaything, and God have mercy, some vain part of me relished the thought. Yesterday, I had but suspected it, but now I knew it for certain, had heard from their own lips how they desired me. 

They both desired me. The ruler of an empire and his queen both desired me, and were determined to seize me, have me. I felt all at once a mixture of panic and of pride, of fear and a touch of destiny: things a warrior feels in his heart when charging into battle. Only now the battlefield would be the bed and it was my body that would come under siege, overwhelmed by lusts both male and female. 

They had made it clear they were not jealous of each other before they'd even decided to bed me, but how long would that last? How long until steel would be drawn, poisons poured? My blood might be upon that bed tonight. And in that moment I thought of you, I thought of all my family, my home there in Constantinople, of whether I would ever see it again.

***

That night, as on all the nights of my stay, I was invited to spend the evening in their company. But this time, I found the guards escorting me not to the entertaining-chambers but to my king's bedchamber instead. I was told he was feeling a little tired and therefore wanted to receive me there, and I smiled politely as I swallowed the obvious lie.

The bedroom was rich, beautifully decorated with stucco walls upon which hung many colourful glass lanterns and censers. Wide, soft divans encircled the room, beside them a few low tables and braziers offering wine, tea, food and heat. Richly woven, soft carpets covered the entire floor, muffling the sound of my slippers as I made my way to the bed that took up nearly half the room. It was covered with heavy, dark red canopies, so completely that I did not know where to enter, as all of the curtains seemed to have been drawn. I felt uneasy, not least because I was afraid of what I would spy if I peeked inside.

Feeling like a fool, I cried out a greeting, first in Arabic, then in Persian.

But it was not the bed's curtain that parted, but that of an alcove set into the opposite wall: a private entrance, I realised, and upon its threshold stood my shah.

"Good evening, my dear Theodoros," he said, smiling at me fondly, stepping out of the shadows and into the lamplight. I swallowed, for it was as if my heart was trying to climb into my throat at the sight that now greeted me. To think that he had seen me naked, yet I had never seen as much of him as I saw now, in attire that was most definitely not modest.

It was clear he had just been bathing; he was only wrapped in a loose, white robe and sash, the silk of the robe now clinging to his damp skin. I had never seen him without a head-covering, either: his face looked entirely different, even thinner than I had imagined it, almost skull-like as he combed his hair back against his scalp. The elongated shape of his head was further emphasised by the peak of his receding hair, the black and silver waves of it now escaping from behind his ears to curl against his cheeks and jaw. Again, I swallowed as he rocked a little on his feet, his hips loose, as wide as a woman's. He was assessing me from head to toe, watching me as I watched him. Again I was frozen by his eyes, still so vast, still so all-devouring, mirth and lamplight dancing in them as he relished my discomfort.

"Are you not going to greet me?"

"Good evening, King of Kings, brother of lions," I finally stammered.

"That's better," he drawled with lazy condescension, his eyes languid as he walked past me to the divans and cushions. "Have a seat; help yourself to the wine."

I did, perhaps a little too eagerly, for I was in sore need of a drink. He saw me fill my cup to the brim, possibly in breach of court etiquette, but I was too nervous to stop myself. He only raised an eyebrow and filled his own cup. "You do know that it is only for your sake we are offering you a separate cup? Here it is the custom to pass the drinking-bowl in a circle, each drinker taking a sip. Had you filled a cup thus in a fire-worshippers' tavern, your companions would have presumed you were trying to get them so drunk they would pass out."

I flushed scarlet, remembering the Nuwas poems. _We shall drink through the night, and if some of us should fall asleep--why, then we shall fuck them!_

"Would you be so ruthless as to try and take advantage of your king?" He smirked over the brim of his cup, sprawling back against his cushions. "Would you dare?"

I took a deep, deep sip; it gave me time to think of an answer. "I would never do anything against your wishes, my king," I said and returned his gaze. Perhaps a touch of his people's fatalism had infected me; perhaps I was no longer quite Christian as I felt myself rushing headlong towards what he would surely have called my destiny. "I am indebted to you and your hospitality, and therefore your servant."

"No, no, no," he said, tutting, again as if I were a schoolboy. "I would have us drink not as king and servant, but as friends." He patted the cushions next to himself. "Come, sit next to me. Let us share the cup as friends do."

With shaking hands, I set my own cup on the low table. He was resting with his back against the divan lining the wall, soft cushions at his back. I had to hold on to the divan for support as I lowered myself next to him, swaying as if I were drunk already. Yet one sip of wine was nothing in comparison to the way the moment now intoxicated me, the way _he_ now intoxicated me. His heavy perfumes of musk and of ambergris filled my nostrils, the heat of his body so close I felt my own heat merging into it, melting into it before he even touched me. 

And touch me he did. Softly, he clasped my hand and wound his fingers into mine, lacing them together, squeezing my palm against his. And in that moment I convulsed as the queen had convulsed, a shock of desire reverberating through my very marrow: my cock leapt, my hair stood on end. I would've cried out loud if I could have, but I was speechless, still. He, however, said nothing, only drank deep from the cup. I could only watch as he took his fill, entranced by the bob of his throat, the veins of his bare neck, the gleaming stripe of brown skin revealed by his gold-embroidered collar. 

When his eyes met mine once more, he was smiling. "Come. Drink to our friendship."

I accepted the cup from him and lifted it to my lips. "To our friendship," I murmured and drank deep; any excuse not to look into those eyes. 

When we had passed the cup back and forth until it was empty, he set it down but never extricated his fingers from mine. The wine had settled into my stomach, flowed into my veins as sweet warmth and emboldened, I squeezed his hand. It felt pleasant, solid, rougher than a woman's--whenever I have clasped a woman's hand, I have feared breaking it, my own hands so large and clumsy. But his hands were even bigger than mine, his fingers longer, thinner: they were an equal match to mine, and with equal strength they squeezed back. The wine had warmed his gaze, too; had made his eyes lazier, his long black lashes heavier. There was a flush upon his cheeks, upon his already-red lips, and he leaned back against his pillows with a relaxed languor. Yet he did not say a word, so finally I broke the silence.

"What are you thinking of, my king?"

"Of what manner of a man I am beholding."

"You know me, my lord."

"Oh, yes," he nodded sarcastically, smiling a toothy smile. "The diligent ambassador, in service to his Emperor, well-versed in statecraft, polite as can be. Yet it is not why you are spending tonight with me in my chambers, nor was it the reason I once spent time in your bedchamber." He lifted our joined hands upon the divan and leaned towards me. "It is because we are both good readers of people that we read in each other the qualities we recognise in ourselves. The same virtues, the same sins. Is this not so?"

I could only nod, smile at him a little, for I am no hypocrite. "It is so. You have named my virtues, my king, but which of my sins were you referring to?" I continued, politely, knowing exactly what he meant but sensing he was asking for a prompt, a cue to continue. I knew the rules of seduction as well as he did, and with relish, he continued the dance.

"Which do you prefer in your bed: the girl or the boy?" he asked, tapping at my thumb with his. "The cunny or the buttocks?"

I had expected this question, yet it was still a shock to hear him voice it, a shock that went right into my sack, a pulse of heat rushing from there to the very tip of my cock. "I like both equally," I said. "They are very different pleasures, are they not? Her soft flesh, his hard muscle. One is like a voyage on an undulating sea, the other like a journey upon firm land."

"And you are a man well-travelled," he smirked. "But tell me, what of the mountains that are only spoken of in whispers?" He, too, lowered his voice, and it seemed to me as if he--he of all people--was masking a hesitance, a shame, even. "What of those grown, adult men that carry within themselves a hidden feminine nature, or a boy's nature, and would be taken by grown men in turn?"

All at once, I felt a delight and a panic: I was torn by two desires, the desire to run and the desire to yield. Had I been that transparent? Would he hold my desire against me, even if he wanted me? Would it make me seem a lesser man in his eyes, relegate me to the status of a boy, a concubine? I did not truly know what he thought of me, even if we were speaking of taboos--thus, to save face, I had to now uphold those taboos and deny myself to protect myself. I extricated my hand and busied myself filling the wine cup, unable to meet his eyes.

"I have not been taken by a man since I was a boy," I said, cursing under my breath as some of the wine spilled upon the table, my hands now too unsteady from the force of my emotion. I was spilling over just as the wine was spilling over, twisting this way and that under his scrutiny. Finally, he took the flask from me and set it upon the table, taking both my hands in his. He did not speak until I met his eyes again, and the look in them was beastly, hungry, filled with what I thought mirth.

"Neither have I," he said. "And I did not care to repeat the experience. Not until I married my sweet Yassamin, that is."

I must admit this confession took me by surprise. How could marrying a woman make a man remember lying underneath men? I was getting more and more confused by the minute. "But do you not love her?" I blurted. 

"I do," he grinned, "And she loves me, as both husband and wife. I shall say no more, for it is improper. But know that she kindles strange desires within me, and now that I have revealed such an unmanly one, will you not reveal to me any of yours? There is no one to hear us here, no one to gossip: a king has laid at your feet a secret by which you could exert power over him. Would you not offer him the gift of a secret in turn?"

He let go of my hands and laid them upon his knees. I stared at them, and between his legs I could not mistake his erection, swathed in the soft white silk now gliding down it like snow. Mountains, snowdrifts--travel has many perils, and I found myself without a guide. I wondered if he wanted me to bend down and worship, and another rush of heat rippled through me, my own cock now so hard it ached. He had once said I had a mouth like a woman's, and was now watching it, too, as if urging me to bend down and satisfy him with it. Was it by my mouth that he had divined the secret womanliness in me, the desire to lie underneath a man like one? 

"I must confess--" I began, swallowed. 

"Yes? Trust that I will not judge you, my friend. Everything that is said in this room will stay in this room. Just as you forgave my wife her indiscretions and forgot about them come morning, so will the king in me forget."

"And the man?" _And the woman?_ I also wondered, for was he not even more womanly than myself in his voice, his movements, his eyes, the way he now rocked his hips? In the desires he had hinted of? In my own panic, it had not immediately dawned to me that maybe this was what he was truly trying to tell me. If he admitted he enjoyed playing the wife to his queen, did he desire playing the woman for a man also? Was this what had prevented him from taking my boy; was this the reason he had reacted the way he had done when the boy had so cruelly insulted him, sexually humiliated him? Or perhaps I had imagined it. I could not imagine such a man--a man so possessing, so commanding--yielding to anything or anyone. Perhaps he had only meant that his wife rode upon him in bed or pleasured him with her fingers, the way women pleasure each other and eunuchs. 

From the long ramble my thoughts had taken, I realised he had fallen silent. "The man will cherish each secret in his heart, as accomplices do," he finally said. "Come, Theodoros. What is it that you desire?"

I felt as if I would fall apart in that moment, fighting myself rather than him, now that he had shown me compassion and understanding, even when I had told him very little. Again, cursing myself inwardly, I chose the tactic of the politician, the realist. But I trembled as I uttered the words, knowing how much they revealed of me, felt myself laid bare before his eyes.

"I desire what my noble king desires," I said, and while a courtesy, it was not a lie--you should have seen how my jaw trembled as I said the words, as I saw the smile on his face. "Whatever it is that he wants to give me, whatever it is that he wants me to take, I shall cherish." In his eyes, I saw my own hunger reflected, and from his smile, I knew that he knew. I had never felt so small, so innocent, truly like a boy once more, so young before him. He knew that I meant what I said, knew that I thus left myself to his tender mercies.

And tender was his hand that now lifted to my temple, to where my hair had come loose from underneath my turban. I could not hold back a cry as he touched me, such was the shiver that ran through me. A man had not touched me so since I was seventeen, and I knew what that touch signalled. This was the moment, the moment he would bend me down and kiss me, undo my robe and ravish me, hurt me, drink my tears as I wept underneath him, helpless--

Instead, he let his hand drop to my thigh. "I have asked these questions of you for a reason, my dear Theodoros. It is because I have a gift to give you."

"Yes?" I bunched my robes in my fists, choking upon my tongue, not knowing what to do. Why was he waiting? Why was he playing this game?

"You once offered me a beautiful boy. Tonight, I would offer you a beautiful boy in turn, and this time, I would enjoy him together with you. To make amends for having been such a poor guest the last time."

Another boy? I did not desire one, for now I could only see him. Did he want a buffer, a safe distance between us, an excuse to share lovemaking with me without truly making love to me? I felt rejected, somehow, a shiver of anger and jealousy and defeat now drowning the shivers of lust underneath itself. 

But it was then that he clapped his hands, loudly, gesturing towards the bed.

The canopies parted and upon the bed lay a boy dressed in a white turban, white shalwars and a turquoise robe. I was shocked, for the shah had told me there was nobody in the room to overhear us. The boy must have heard everything, everything, and now I felt trapped. Even if I had not expressed my desires explicitly, I still panicked, wanted to run all the way back to Byzantium. In my mind, I calculated how far I would get if I bolted, now; if I would be able to steal a horse, how far I could ride--

The shah got up and took my hand. "Come. He won't bite." He smirked as he helped me to my feet. "Not unless you ask him to, of course."

In a daze, I mounted the low bed with him, he and I on either side of the boy and immediately, the boy turned towards his master. He embraced the shah eagerly and the shah glanced over the boy's shoulder at me, then lifted the boy's chin with his hand.

"Do you think you could take two men tonight, my child?" 

"You truly are the greatest of masters to offer your slave such a pleasure, my king. I have waited all night, and would not wait any longer."

The boy's voice was so soft he must have been very young, perhaps a little too young--but it was then that he turned towards me and I spied a swell of a breast and saw that his faint, faint moustache was painted on with musk. A tomboy, then, one of the boy-girl slaves I had heard of, laughing boldly, lasciviously. She laid her hand on my chest, her crooked, honey-coloured eyes looking straight into mine. "Good evening, my tiger."

I sat there, gaping with astonishment, both the shah and his queen bursting into laughter. Soon, I joined them in their laughter, groaning at myself, yet somehow relieved. The shah embraced the queen from behind as she swayed in his arms, clearly a little drunk herself. She smelled of musk and wine and pomegranates and as I inhaled her, I felt my cock stir once more. She noticed, and laid her hand upon my embarrassment softly, oh, so softly, feeling it through my robes.

"Is it as my husband says? Akin to a horse's?" she said, giddy, curling her little hand around it. Oh, it felt wonderful and I shivered, yet shivered even more as I saw the way the shah was now watching me over her shoulder, as eager to see it as she was. 

"You must excuse my boy, Theodoros. He has no manners."

"I am not offended in the least, my king," I laughed nervously.

"Please. 'Jaffar' tonight."

"Then, I insist that you, too, call me 'Theo,' as my other friends do."

"Very well, Theo. However..." He turned his attentions to her, smacking her buttock, making her yelp and press against me most sweetly. "We cannot call _you_ by your true name just yet, can we, my dear? Not while you are to play the boy for us?"

"Then call me none," she panted against my chest, flushing. "But _'page,'_ but _'cupbearer,'_ but _'boy.'_ "

Again, her perversion astounded me--that a queen so bold should submit so as a part of their play! Outside the bedchamber even her king laid at her feet, but now, she continued to moan in abandon as he smacked her buttocks again and again, squeezing them through her shalwars. Once he had driven her into such a state that she was panting, he smiled at me conspiratorially.

"Very well, _boy,_ " he purred into her ear. "Kiss him."

"Yes, master," she whispered, glancing softy at him with such love in her eyes it left me breathless.

And then it was her mouth that stole my breath from me, too: lightly, hesitantly she pressed her lips to mine. Her lips were so full, so soft I could not help but kiss them back as sweetly as she kissed me, almost chaste, only pressing my mouth over upper and lower lip in turn. Besides, I was nervous--how far was I allowed to go? He might ravish her, dominate her, but should I not be tender, so as not to cross boundaries that shouldn't be crossed?

My king--Jaffar--leaned over us, caressed her cheek. "Deeper. Kiss him as I kiss you." 

As if she were his instrument? Was he now taking me through her? This was what I wondered as she moaned against my mouth and opened hers, flicking her tongue to part my lips. I tasted the pomegranates, musk, wine I had previously only inhaled. But oh, there was less sweetness to her mouth now as it assaulted mine: she thrust her tongue inside and curled it against my palate like one curls a finger inside a lover's flesh, making me moan in turn. By now, my cock was staining my shalwars, staining my robes, fully hard under her kneading hand. 

He was unwinding her turban, undoing it so that he might sink his fingers into her hair, press her face against mine so violently our teeth clashed. He was pushing her against me, grinding her against my body, so I helped him by wrapping my hand around her waist and pulled her tighter against myself. Jaffar, too, pressed against her, wrapping his long, thin arm around us both in turn, crushing her between our bodies until she screamed into my mouth.

"Good boy." He pulled her by the hair again and took her mouth in turn. I winced as I saw him bite her lip, but she shook between us, ecstatic, her fingertips trembling upon my cock. When she pulled back, her eyes were glazed, her musk moustache a little smeared, her pomegranate lip paint even more so. And to think we had only just started! 

"Thank you, master," she whispered, squirming as if she wanted to touch us both as much as possible, undulating her body against ours.

"You clearly yearn to feel his skin," he chuckled. "Then undress him." 

As she started to undo my turban, he turned to me. "We have arrived at but three rules. One: if you do anything she or I have not requested, I will have you whipped. If you injure her in any way, I will have your arms cut off. If you get her with child... I will have your head." He smiled pleasantly. "That is all."

 _"Jaffar."_ She laid a soft peck on my cheek as she started to undo my robes. "Can't you see he is nervous?"

And I was, despite the wine: I have a bad habit of blushing all the way down to my chest when I am nervous, and they both noticed this. He didn't touch me, but for her, my flush seemed to hold a strange fascination. She smiled at me sweetly and cupped my cheek as if to make up for her husband's brutishness, then sunk one hand into my hair, caressing it in astonishment. "You are very fair, my tiger. Never have I seen a man with hair of such colour; it is as if spun of copper and gold," she said. "I have only seen such complexions on the slave girls brought here by the Northmen. Now I have an inkling as to why they are such coveted beauties," she murmured as she ran her hand down my neck to my chest. 

"I am honoured, my lady." 

She brought her hands to the laces of my shalwars, quirking her eyebrow. "'Boy,' surely." 

"I am honoured, my boy," I laughed into her mouth as I took it. I would not have to fear her, I thought, only her master: if I showed her tenderness, I would be safe. Her master, in the meantime, had gone to fetch more wine and rejoined us upon the bed. He arranged himself comfortably into a half-sitting position against some cushions, still clothed himself, a cup of wine in one hand, clasping his cock through his robe with the other. Was he going to join us at all, I wondered? 

She noticed I was looking at him. "Waiting is a perversion of his. He can stay like that for hours, sometimes even days. I don't know which he enjoys more, the anticipation or the cruelty he inflicts upon me through it."

He raised an eyebrow, letting out an exaggerated croon of distaste. "Such insolence. Remember your position, boy. Right now, it should be on your knees."

She did not look at him, only into my eyes, never lowering her gaze as she undid my laces and took my cock into her hand. And what soft hands, so soft--I had not known the touch of a woman in an age, only the hands of slave boys. I was swooning, rocking into her touch, and could only faintly make out her words through the din of pleasure.

"You would have me kneel for him, master?"

Jaffar squeezed his cock as she squeezed mine, groaning in delight. "I command it. Theo, I would ask you to kneel upon the floor." He patted the bed. "Here, beside me."

Now it was I who groaned as I had to leave the bed, leave the sweet touch of her hands. My heart pounding, my cock slapping against my stomach--I could not remember when it had last been this hard--I did as I was told. I knelt next to him, nearly touching him, my erection but inches from his face. But inches from his infernal _smirk,_ from his hungry eyes that measured me up and down. He glanced up at me, licking his lips and despite all my efforts to control myself, my cock _bobbed_ , a little drop of arousal beading at its tip.

As she knelt next to him, facing me, he laid his hand on my thigh. "Quite like a horse, wouldn't you say?" 

"You're both worthy of the royal stables," she smiled as she closed her hand upon my cock once more. "But to think that you are golden down here as well!" she exclaimed, carding her fingers through my pubic hair. Then, she turned her attention to my cock, marvelling at the way my skin moved as she stroked me. "And what's this?"

"You must forgive my slave. He has experience of but one man, and is not familiar with Christian ways." 

"I forgive her--him--oh--" I squirmed in her grip, not knowing where to put my hands. I tried to balance them upon her shoulders, hoping I was not pressing them too hard. She, however, was more fascinated by my foreskin, the way it wrinkled around the tip of my cock when she moved her hand, the way my arousal pooled in the nest it made. 

Jaffar but laughed. "That is what an uncircumcised man looks like. I hope that and his unshaven state do not revolt you, my dear. I understand the Christians can be quite a filthy lot," he chuckled, but I saw him lick his lips once more, saw his nostrils flare as if he wanted a taste. 

"You smell clean," she said, smiling up at me, licking her lips as well. "Yet your scent, it is stronger, muskier. Master--" she turned to him.

"Yes, you may pleasure him with your mouth."

 _Irrumatio,_ considered extremely sinful in every civilised land--and now I was to perform it upon a queen's mouth? The sheer hedonism of the thought diffused sweet warmth through my guts before her mouth even closed upon my cock. And she closed her mouth only upon the tip, at first: she pulled my foreskin up once more and dipped her tongue into its wet nest, poking it with a childish curiosity. I could not help but laugh. 

"It tickles?" she asked me, her eyes gleaming playfully. 

"Yes." I stroked her cheek. "Don't worry; I don't find it at all unpleasant."

"You must do to him what you do to me," Jaffar murmured, his hand lazy upon my thigh. "That's it, cup the sack, just as I have taught you."

My fingers trembled upon her shoulders as she took his advice. For only having pleasured one man before, she was as skilled as any courtesan or catamite: as if by instinct, she knew the exact spots to seek behind my balls, where to put pressure upon my perineum. Few women had given me their mouths before, and now it was as if I was indeed being sucked by a boy--she knew exactly how to open her mouth, how to flatten her tongue to allow me deeper inside her. And it had been Jaffar who had made her this way, I thought deliriously; I was enjoying the fruits of his own lust and skill through his disciple. No, no, not only a disciple--that would have been unfair to my queen. For now I found that Yassamin of Basra was a mistress of the art of love in her own right.

She desired me as much as he did, and her submission to him was but play--it is said that certain lovers are but two halves of the same human being, and never was this truer than with these two. She devoured me with her mouth, smiled up at me with her bold, merciless eyes: never was she truly a boy, but a queen who wanted me and would seduce me with the softness of her hands, the lightness of her touch. At the same time it was also the fierce, violent, conquering male desire of his that now caressed me. It was but channeled through the deceptive softness of her female body, tempered by her female instinct, enveloped in her own lust, a lust as powerful as his. He barely touched me, yet both the man and the woman were now making love to me, and the realisation of this had me reeling. 

My knees were trembling, and I wondered if I was about to come undone on the spot, particularly as Jaffar's fingertips skimmed my buttocks once, twice. And now my lady Yassamin was wetting her mouth with so much saliva it ran down her lips, so that my cock was making slick sounds as I thrust into her faster and faster, oh--

"Enough," Jaffar snapped, pulling her head back by the hair. Her eyes were gleaming wet from tears, from having nearly choked upon me, the kohl on them a little smudged. But a few traces of her musk moustache remained, now, her mouth a pink, smeared circle, her tongue quivering as she gasped for breath. And even as he so held her, she was looking into my eyes, smiling, smiling, beside herself with arousal. Defying her master, she gave my cock one last, wet kiss, pulling back so slowly it left a string of fluid dangling between the tip of my cock and her lower lip.

I groaned, my knuckles white as I gripped her shoulders, and I must have been staring open-mouthed like a maniac. "My God!"

"Quite," he laughed, hastily pulling up his robe and guiding her mouth to his own cock instead. With a cry of delight, she sank her mouth upon him, sucking him with more vigour than she had used upon me. And I found myself staring, captivated. Her mouth barely left his cock at all and this frustrated me, as I wanted to have a good look at it. To distract myself, I wrapped my hand around my own cock and stroked it slowly to the same rhythm she pleasured him with, imagining my hand her mouth.

When she finally pulled back for air, I could see his cock was no smaller than mine, a little thicker, even, and quite beautiful. No boy's cock, this, but an adult man's prick, fleshy and fat: it shone a dark, dark red, flushed, gleaming from her saliva. I bit down on a whimper, bit down on the wetness now gathering in my mouth. Oh, how I wanted to taste that cock, wanted to close my mouth around it, to knead his full, heavy balls until he flooded my mouth with sperm. Dimly, I recalled to my mind the varied tastes of the lovers I had had as a boy. Would he taste salty, soapy, bitter, sweet?

He saw me looking at him, and did not look down at her as he took her hair once more and told her to _lick_. And lick she did, worshipping her master's cock, worshipping it with her mouth as I worshipped it with my eyes. All the while, he watched me, tilting his head lazily, measuring my cock with his eyes, skimming my forearm with his fingertips. He found me pleasing, I could tell, but she had been right about his perversion: with his gaze, with his touch he both enticed me and kept me at bay, saying _I will have you,_ yet immediately followed it by a _But not yet._

It was she who broke first. Groaning from deep within her belly, she pulled off and took us both by our cocks. "I would have you both inside me," she moaned feverishly, stroking us with eager hands. "Please."

"Ask nicely." He smacked her arse, smacked it, smacked it until she buried her face into my belly, against my cock, panting into me hopelessly. 

"Please," she groaned. "Do not make me wait any longer."

It was then that he flipped up her short robe and tugged at her shalwars, tugged at them until they pooled at her knees. Roughly, he got up and wrestled her down onto the bed on all fours, smacking her buttocks again until they glowed red, until she was sobbing into the pillows. I should have been shocked, but upon witnessing the pleasure she derived from this, my only shock was that of the intense pleasure the sight now brought me. I watched, listened as his beautiful, merciless hand smacked into her soft flesh, sent it jiggling from the blows, feeling each of those smacks reverberating through my own body in turn. On and on he kept slapping her, on and on she kept writhing, clutching at the sheets. Then, presumably once he had found the shade of red he had been after, he gestured to me. 

"Come, Theo. We should prepare him together. It's not every night a pageboy gets to take two pricks, is it? Hmm?" he said with another smack for good measure.

I took my place behind her, and oh, what a sight: it is the custom here to shave all of one's body hair, and she was no exception. Between the roundest, downiest of buttocks--peachlike in and of themselves--lay a smaller peach, just as he had drunkenly described it to me. It was the plumpest, the softest of cunnies, the sweet scent of it now filling my nostrils, curling within my belly, making my balls lift once more. It was perfectly round and full, the inner folds barely showing, and like our cocks, it was gleaming all over. To think that such maltreatment could cause such a flush in a woman, make her melt between the legs so that she had wet even her inner thighs! Oh, my cock wanted it, but I knew I could not have it, and I found a little noise of despair escaping my lips as he beckoned me to look at her more closely. 

It was now she who made a noise as he split her mound with his thumb and slid it to the top of her slit, rubbing there softly. She bit into her sleeve and moaned, her thighs quivering, herself so close to climax now, it seemed. "Please," she whimpered, "Please, master, Theo, please."

"Mm-mm." He removed his thumb and lifted it to his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste her sweetness. He returned his hand to her service and now she all but kicked, pressing herself against his teasing hand.

"Did you cleanse yourself well?" he asked her.

"Yes," she panted. "Four rinses."

"We'll have to make sure you are clean enough. I would not offer my guest a dirty hole, you understand." And at that, he took his slickened thumb and pressed it to her arse, plunging it inside her. She screamed, spasmed, shook until it looked as if she was about to faint.

"Please, please, please--"

"Not yet." He twisted his thumb, fanning his wet fingers over her buttocks. The movement made a bead of arousal drip out of her cunny; oh, he was merciless to her, twisting and turning his thumb, tugging at her until she gaped open a little. She shuddered, pressed her face to the sheets and moaned uncontrollably, yet he did not flinch. With every cry he ignored, he seemed to incite her lust even further: the more he refused to acknowledge her desperation, the more desperate she grew. It was an aphrodisiac to both of them, I realised: he wanted to see how far he could push her, how mad he could drive her from wanting him. To him, it seemed a matter of proving himself, relishing his own skill. And it did not escape me that tonight, he also wanted to make sure both of us knew who it was that loved her best, touched her best; that it was he who possessed the rightful claim to her heart.

Finally, he pulled his thumb out and inspected it for cleanliness. "Well done, my dear. But I think we should let Theo see for himself." He parted her buttocks and nodded to me.

My cock drew a wet stripe over my belly as I bent down to look at her: I gasped as I observed the state of her anus, the rim of it a little raised like that of a boy who had been regularly sodomised. How often he must've taken her like a boy, how she must have enjoyed it--I had never seen such an arse on a woman; would never have expected to see one on a queen. But there it was, pursed and dark pink, clenching before me, fragrant with orange blossom oil. 

Orange blossom oil, just as on my boy--he must have taught her the trick, must have, and I groaned as my body responded to the familiar scent. I spat on my thumb and pushed it inside her in turn, with the same cruelty he had shown her. And oh, how hot and wet she was, pulsing around my thumb, her noises making her flesh quiver around me sweetly. She had been loosening herself, I could tell, and the realisation itself made me moan louder than her: the tight folds of her flesh smoothened easily underneath my thumb as I pressed it against the muscle. She was ready, had been ready the moment we had entered the room, and was now so beside herself with arousal that a drop of her sweetness dangled halfway between her cunny and the sheets.

"Do you find the arse to your liking?" Jaffar asked me as if she wasn't there, to but tease her further. "As you can see, I have kept him in training."

"God, yes." With a soft gasp from her, the pink and the red parted to swallow my thumb whole. I trembled, trembled as her body sucked at me, clenched around me, demanding more. "Oh, it is _beautiful._ "

It was then that he leaned over my hand and pursed his lips, _dribbled_ spit all over my thumb, and I nearly lost myself there and then. He had not even kissed me, yet this felt far more intimate, so casually ruthless it was a ravishment in and of itself. I could only stare as he pushed his own thumb in next to mine and urged me to help him pull her arse open, so open she was _gaping_. By now, her voice had broken into little hiccoughs, gags: I could feel her womb clenching against our joined thumbs. 

"We will not fuck you until that little cunny has dripped to the sheets, you know," he purred. "Almost there; but a few inches to go."

She groaned loudly and pushed back into our hands, curling her back like a cat in heat. Now she was clenching deliberately, fucking herself upon our hands, whimpering each time Jaffar pulled his thumb out, then pushed it back in. Yet when the drop was almost upon the sheets, he leaned down and caught it with his tongue, making her scream in frustration, kick back at him as much as she could. He only put his mouth to her cunny and lapped at it, sucked at it noisily until she sobbed. 

"You beast, you utter monster--"

At that, he realised her cries had turned into those of pleasure, so he stopped. He looked up at me with a wicked smile, his moustache gleaming from her sweetness. "I think we should open him just a little more, shouldn't we?" He took a little jar from his pocket. "Give me your hand."

I did, and he poured a clear, thick fluid upon my thumb, upon my fingers, a fluid also smelling of orange blossoms. And like earlier that night, he now laced his fingers with mine, squeezed my hand with his slickened one until both were smeared. I gasped at the eroticism of the act, and he couldn't have missed the way my cock leapt, so close to his, yet he ignored me with a smile, just as he had ignored her cries.

"There. See how many you can insert."

"Oh--" I began with two, but they slipped in easily, with very little resistance. 

She but gasped a little; he shook his head. "When he is this aroused, he can usually take four." And to demonstrate, he pushed in two fingers beside mine, and now she finally wailed as she had wailed before. "Pull," he commanded me, and we did: between our fingers, we could now see her very insides, red and slick. As Jaffar pushed yet another finger in, she cried out as if she were dying and finally, finally the strings of her arousal touched the sheets.

Jaffar himself groaned, now, his cock dripping, too. He took it in his hand and squeezed it tight, as if to give himself pain, to delay his own pleasure. "I will let you have him now, Theo. There is but one thing you must not do."

"I will not take her cunny; I promise." 

"No, no, no. It is not that. It is only that you should not give her the pleasure your own slave boy craves, for I have sworn to gift it to her personally, later."

I was baffled. 

"I mean this," he said and before I could protest, he took his fingers out of her arse and pushed them into my mouth. In shock, I suffocated on a cry, but he held them inside my mouth, smirking, smearing the taste of her arse upon my tongue. "This pleasure your boy so cruelly humiliated me with. Do you enjoy the taste?" he asked, mock-innocently.

I had never tasted anyone's insides before, gagged even if I knew his fingers had been clear when he had taken them from her, but oh, God have mercy upon me--I enjoyed the taste. I enjoyed it, even if admitting this will surely take me to Hell. For upon my tongue, I now tasted and felt a musty slickness, a dark taste entwined with the green freshness of the orange blossoms. It did not taste the way excrement smelled at all; only metallic, salty, and not at all unpleasant. _I was now tasting the walls of her flesh._ I had tasted sperm, cunnies more foul--oh, I knew I would desire this taste for the rest of my life from this day on, just as he must have desired it after it had been forced upon him. I was damned, damned. But worse was his chuckle, the way he now fucked my mouth with his fingertips: worse her cry as she looked at us over her shoulder, _jealous,_ yet stricken with shame. 

"You told him," she whimpered, as if about to burst into tears as he moved to kneel in front of her. "You told him, you _bastard_ , you told him--"

He snatched her head up by the hair. "Only because I knew you would steal that taste otherwise. You are to taste it off my flesh and my flesh only. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she gasped in defeat and with violent, spiteful force, claimed his cock with her mouth once more. 

I moved to kneel between her legs and pressed my cock to her arse. Immediately, it gave and then clenched around the tip, sucking upon it as her mouth now sucked his cock, eager to have me inside of her.

"Please," she gasped with his cock halfway in her mouth, "Please take me; I cannot bear it. Please don't be as cruel as he."

I guided my cock with my hand and pushed, pulled, dipped in and out of her, but there was little need for such careful preparation: she was open. It was for the sake of my own pleasure that I scooped up more slickness from the jar to wet my cock, to make the slide all the sweeter as I finally entered her fully. With a few nudges of my hips, it was done, oh, it was done. I was completely sheathed within the exquisite, soft wetness of her arse, my balls nestling against her dripping, hot cunny. 

She was shaking, gagging on her husband's cock but he held her fast, held her head down with both hands so that his cock was buried in her throat. Oh, he was doing this deliberately: with every gag, she clenched doubly against my cock, first her arse in violent reflex, then her cunny in reaction to the reflex. He was forcing pleasure out of her to bring me pleasure in turn, little wails bursting out of her mouth along his cock. 

He pulled off his robe and grinned at me conspiratorially. "Tight?"

"Tight," I groaned in delight as I curled myself over her, kissing her neck tenderly. "And so beautiful."

She pulled her mouth off his cock with a wet gasp, gifting me with a kiss over her shoulder. "Please don't stop." As she kissed me again, I felt both of Jaffar's hands pushing our heads together again, his fingers now in my hair, too: I thrust deeper into her from sheer surprise, making her wail against my cheek. I looked up and he, too, was beautiful, beautiful in his nakedness. He was towering over us both, sighing at me with his eyes slitted as he guided his cock to his wife's mouth once more. He was thin, so thin his ribs were showing, yet sinewy and lithe, full of grace and poise even when consumed by lust. Such was the precision with which he rolled his hips and thrust into her mouth, watching my reactions with a pleased smile. Judging by that smile, I must have been making the most embarrassing of faces as she undulated upon my cock, better than any slave boy I had ever known.

"How long had you planned this?" I groaned, almost angry as another shudder of hers made me pant and thrust faster into her body. 

He sunk both of his hands into my hair, watched me for a while, the only sounds in the room those of her soft slurping, gagging, of my balls against her wet cunny. Finally, he inhaled sharply with pleasure, then spoke. "From the day I met you. Does a sodomite not always know another?"

She pulled back for breath, abandoning him for a while to rub at herself. "You should've brought him home earlier," she whimpered through her teeth, her hand so fast on her cunny I could feel her fingertips flickering against my balls. "Theo, you feel good, so good--"

And she felt so good, too, so incredibly hot, her arse as if fevered, and I was sure I could not last long. I could feel the telltale signs of her orgasm approaching, too: her arse suddenly feeling looser, slicker, rippling around my thrusts. Deliberately, I slowed down, barely moving inside of her so that she was forced into taking her pleasure of me, she the one fucking me rather than the other way around. "Please, Theo--"

Jaffar, however, snatched her hands from her, lifted us to a kneeling position and ground himself against her with violent force. "Not until I tell you to, my sweet," he snarled in her face. He gestured for me to take her hands, to hold them behind her back. I felt a flash of cruel delight at imitating her husband so, some new man in me relishing her cry as I twisted her wrists a little, the way she trembled around me, her cunny pulsing with frustration.

"Please, Jaffar," she sobbed, trying to force herself upon my cock. "Please, I'm so close, so close, oh, God--"

Very calmly, wickedly Jaffar slid his hand to her cunny. And oh, the way she jerked, jumped back against my body as if his very touch burned her. "Oh, God, oh, merciful God," she was now sobbing repeatedly, babbling, so wet her sap ran down my balls, fell in strings over both of our thighs. Bold, I bit her on the shoulder, Jaffar's eyes flashing with approval as she cried out in his face. He but tapped her cunny, then slapped it, harder, harder. "Do you want to come?" 

"Yes," she gasped, hoarse, sobbing as Jaffar offered his hand to her face. As if receiving a blessing, she lapped at it, lapped at it in complete adoration, worship. "Please, master. Please." 

Finally, he returned his hand to her cunny and this time, the ripples of her womb, her arse were so strong I knew there was no turning back for her. He stared into her eyes with such intensity it made my blood run cold, with such absolute command I felt my own balls jump, oh--

"Then come for me."

It was I who cried out first, then she, his words triggering my own release as they now triggered hers, her arse sucking me in, sucking my own contractions out of me. Even as I spiralled, surged, flowed into her I was _terrified,_ terrified at the way he had so caught not only her but me in his traps, made us both his slaves. 

And on he crooned, watching me, watching her, slapping her cunny as she trembled around me. "That's it, that's it, good girl," he purred, "Get him tasty for me." 

_Tasty?_ But surely--

\--and it was then that he let her fall back onto all fours, crawled around us, knelt at my feet and watched as I shuddered my last inside her. Swiftly, he wrapped his hand around the root of my cock and brought it to his lips, looking up at me, his eyes blazing with perverse greed. The pleasure he had kept from her, the pleasure my boy had taught him. Incomprehending, still swooning in the haze of release, I gasped a weak "No," for he was my king, my king, and he should not--

And he opened his red, gleaming mouth, showed me his crooked, bright teeth, extended his pink tongue. With the warmest of chuckles, he now closed his mouth around my cock and _sucked_. 

"Oh, God," I cried feebly, shaken from my orgasm, shaken from disbelief, from the madness of the sight: my king, sucking the taste of his queen's arse off my cock, savouring it as if it were the greatest delicacy he had enjoyed in his life. 

Faintly, I could hear Yassamin gasping, then cursing in jealousy, in awe. "You bastard, you sodomite, oh, God, you filthy bastard--!" she cried but her hand was on her cunny again, her other hand's fingers thrusting in the gaping hole my cock had left. Within seconds, new release overtook her, such was the effect our sight had upon her. "You bastard," she gasped again as she fell down onto the sheets, but it was said with such love he but hummed and smiled around my cock in response. 

I knew him for a libertine, I knew him for a man of greed, of hedonism, a lover of women and boys but never could I have expected this. He looked up at me with mischief in his eyes, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks like a slave girl's as he served me so, yet it was an act far from submissive. He was using this perversion of his not only to tease his wife, but to submit my body, too, to his desire and his desire alone. And gladly, I was devoured, relished by his tongue and his lips as he drank me in, sucked the very last drops of my sperm into his throat. 

He pulled back, his lips gleaming as he licked them, let out a little huffing laugh. "You taste delicious, my dear," he said to her, but kept his eyes upon me instead. Swaying slightly, he rose to his knees and sank his hands into my hair again. "Would you like to taste my wife's arse?"

Without waiting for an answer, he kissed me, sliding his tongue into my mouth, sharing the taste of orange blossoms and must. I wrapped my arms around him and moaned, moaned as I finally received the kiss I had so yearned for, a kiss from his mouth, his moustache finally scratching my lips. That he had made me wait for it so long, making the kiss so perverse as if to make sure I would never forget it--oh, I moaned from that, too, and now I truly knew what she had meant. Knew why she had called him a brute because he had made her wait, knew the power he exerted over her--and now, myself--exactly because of it. Just as he had planned to make me their plaything, just as he had calculated every single movement of his hips inside her, so he had planned, timed the precise moment he would undo me with his mouth. I felt his erection against my belly and shuddered, for if this was the way he had begun, what lay ahead of me? What else had he planned for me tonight?

Before I knew it, I was on my back beside her, catching my breath. She had undressed while he had been kissing me, and now pressed her breasts against me, as if to make him jealous. I, however, was so fatigued from my exertions I could not move. Therefore, she climbed over me and onto him in turn, straddling his stomach. I was lying diagonally from them, so my view was most delightful: from here, I could see not only their profiles, but also her buttocks, the way she now pushed them back against his erection. 

"Not sated yet?" he asked her. 

"Far from it," she said, dragging her fingers down his chest. "And from the looks of it, neither are you, husband."

"And you intend to change that, do you?" he smiled, reaching out to fondle her breasts. "As a matter of fact, I was saving myself for you."

She took his mouth with a chuckle as she guided his cock to her cunny. "Then it's about time I claimed my prize."

As she sank onto his cock, she let out a little gasp of surprise. When I realised why, it was enough to make me gasp in turn: for I now saw my own sperm _leaking_ from her arse, dripping down his balls in rivulets. The sight--oh, it was enough to make my cock take notice again, so I clasped it in my hand, shifting a little so that I was now sitting between his legs.

She swung back her hair and smiled at me over her shoulder, the most dazzling of smiles. "The tiger has stirred, my love." 

"Who wouldn't, looking at your buttocks?" Jaffar sighed happily, leaning back into his cushions. "Dance for us, my sweet."

He kissed her hand and let her move on top of him, now languid after the fury of sodomy. It was now that he made love to her as a woman that he, too, calmed: all tension left his limbs, his hands but resting gently upon her thighs, his eyes closed in ecstasy as she satisfied herself upon his cock. With relish she moved upon him, her bracelets, her anklets, her earrings tinkling, making sweet music as she took him.

Every woman here knows how to dance with her belly, they tell me: chaste women, however, keep their dancing to the confines of the harem or the bedchamber. And how she danced! She undulated on top of him as if she were swimming lazily, swaying to and fro like an enamoured serpent. It seemed as if she were losing herself at times, so entranced was she by their joining. In that moment, nothing existed for her apart from the pleasure his body gave her. Like a heathen she worshipped him, as our women once worshipped supine statues of Priapus. Yet there was nothing lewd to this act; heathen or not, to me it seemed sacred. And to my astonishment, I did not feel any true jealousy, rather that I was privileged to witness such a love. I desired them both, was enamoured of them both, but it was not a possessive love: rather, I felt an enormous happiness expanding within my chest at being allowed to bask in the glow of such a love. There was enough of it to feed me, too, I mused, my hand slow on my cock. 

Her head fell back so that her hair cascaded down, down, so that its perfume filled my nostrils. I did not dare touch her, to break this moment, but it was then that she cried out a little in her throat, frustrated. I could tell from her trembling that she yearned for more, something to finally push her over the precipice. 

She fell upon him again, her hair now cascading around his face in turn. "Would you sodomise me?"

He lifted her hair with his hands and kissed her softly. "Tomorrow. Remember the pleasures I promised you."

"I do, my love, but would you not allow me release?"

He moved one of his hands between her buttocks, stroking her anus slowly, chuckling as she gasped against his cheek. "So is that it, hmm? Is this little hole not sated either?"

She quivered a little as he dipped a finger in. "Once was not enough; oh, please--"

He took his finger out and beckoned to me with it. "Theo. My friend. Won't you join me? You heard the lady; her backside is not yet sated."

She gasped in alarm. "Jaffar!"

"What's the matter? You yourself said you wanted two men inside of you tonight."

She flushed scarlet and buried her face in his shoulder, mumbling with embarrassment. "Oh, God."

Jaffar but nodded slowly. "Yes. Never let it be said I do not fulfill my wife's caprices." Then he turned to me. "Try."

I could not believe my ears or my eyes: Jaffar holding her buttocks open before me, her arse still red and gleaming wet from oil, from sperm. She was trembling upon him, unable to look at either of us, yet I was sure she would have said something had she wanted us to stop. Had she told him she harboured a desire like this? Had she seen it in a love manual, as I had, knowing it was possible? My heartbeat was drowning out my hearing, my head spinning so that I could barely see as I moved to kneel behind them.

I looked at his cock, looked at her gleaming, plump cunny so wrapped around it, her round white buttocks quivering softly--and, brother, how could I resist such an offer? I pressed my cock between her buttocks and leaned over her, over them both, kissing her shoulder with utmost tenderness. " _Do_ you want us both, my queen?"

Jaffar turned his gaze to her, too; he cupped her cheek, gently coaxing her to look into his eyes. "Say the word and we shall stop. Know that I would rather throw myself upon a sword than truly hurt you."

She rested her forehead against his and swallowed. "I want you both." 

I moved her hair away from her neck to better kiss it, to soothe her--the tenderness in their eyes had so warmed me, so softened me that I moved upon her as gently as a wave. I did not enter her immediately, only wrapped my arms around her, resting my weight upon them both. Finally, she turned to look at me over her shoulder, her eyes now half-lidded from a desire reborn. "I want you both," she repeated, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.

"Then you can have us, my lady," I whispered into her kiss. I pulled back only to spit on my cock a little, so as not to give her pain and gently, I started to press in. This act may have been a titillating one to experiment with, but it required a lot of hard work, as we all soon realised. Several times, my cock slipped and slid off her arse, such was the extent to which he was filling her. And each time my cock slipped, it dragged across his cock, too, and secretly I derived a most wonderful pleasure from this, even as I murmured apologies. 

"Breathe," he told her, combing her hair from her face, his eyes full of such tenderness and care I feared he might burst into tears if she didn't. Without a word, she breathed, breathed and pressed herself against my cock as I pushed in with all my might. Finally, I managed to insert the head, struggling for balance as I tried to find the right angle from which to push further into her. 

"Does it hurt?" I asked her, worried that he might leap up and strangle me if she answered "Yes."

"I don't know, I--I've never been this full, oh, God, I--" 

"Breathe, my love, breathe," Jaffar whispered, and I could feel him moving his hand to her cunny.

With another deep exhalation, she let out a strange, keening noise and pushed herself deeper onto me, clasping my hip, trying to draw me inside of herself. Gently, I pushed into her, shuddering as I felt his movements inside her, but a thin layer of flesh separating our cocks. I was inside, inside, and now it was I who keened, my thumbs slipping in the sweat in the dip of her spine.

He rolled his hips a little, quirking his eyebrow at her. "Better, my dear?"

She pushed his hand off her cunny and rubbed at it herself, faster, now. "Oh, God. The two of you, the two of you--" she shook, and I could feel the muscles of her hips trembling around us but faintly, with but half the force I had felt previously, all of her stretched so that it must have felt strange to her. All of her skin had broken out in goosebumps and she felt a little stiff, suggesting some discomfort. It felt brutal to be penetrating her so, impaling her so on two cocks, but I also felt a selfish delight at being able to enjoy both of them thus. Presently, Jaffar moved a little more, his cock and balls wet against mine as he slid in and out of her cunny, making her gasp in shock, as if she could still not believe what was being done to her. 

"More?" he asked, with a mixture of amusement and concern.

She fell upon him, panting heavily, now. "More." She clasped his shoulders, clutching them until her fingers turned white. "More."

And it was now he who reached out to touch me, his hands upon my buttocks, urging me to move. "Theo." He smiled at me, and within that smile was a challenge: I set out to prove myself, rocking my hips experimentally. Into her arse, onto his cock I pushed, moving faster and faster until she relaxed, until she cried out and slackened on top of him, her fingertips fluttering upon the sheets. 

He smiled, nodded and I took it as my cue to continue. Still holding his gaze, I fucked now not her but him, too: showing him what I was made of, pounding into her until my balls slapped against his, until even he cried out underneath her. With a growl, he now wrapped his arms around her waist and started thrusting into her in turn. Our hips soon found a common rhythm: as he thrust into her cunny, I nearly pulled out of her arse; as I plunged back in, he pulled back, and my balls had the pleasure of dragging against his wet shaft. 

By now, she was wailing so loudly I was sure the servants would hear--and all the while, he stared at me, stared into my eyes over her shoulder. I wanted to come like this, wanted to have my release from them both, but I couldn't. Oh, how I wanted to take him instead, or be taken by him, as I was now taken by his gaze. And despite her enjoyment, she seemed to be deprived of fulfillment, too, so soon she pushed at my hips and pleaded for me to withdraw. With soft, apologetic kisses they both let me go, and it was for the best: I was not in a hurry to orgasm, and derived a greater pleasure from sitting back and masturbating as I watched them at play. 

She withdrew from him and laid back against the sheets, panting. Many times, he asked her if we had hurt her, if she was in pain, and just as many times, she answered that she felt good, only a little sore, a little overwhelmed. Nevertheless, he spent a long time soothing her with his kisses, even if I knew he must have been desperate for release. Very slowly, he kissed her mouth, her breasts, her cunny and then laid on top of her, pressing her into the bed with his weight. As if he had all the time in the world, he sunk his hands into her hair to kiss her mouth again, ground against her with such a sigh it was as if he could not bear her sweetness, that her very love would slay him as he lay upon her. Never had I seen a husband love his wife so; never had I seen a wife love her husband as she did, wrapping her arms and her legs around him, rocking against him as if to swallow him into herself. 

"Take me," she murmured, "Take me," in an endless litany against his cheek, so soft I could barely hear her, so quiet, her voice now hoarse from screaming. "Please, take me."

And quietly, gently he entered her, entwining his fingers with hers, gliding into her with a kiss. They exchanged no words, only sighs and more kisses as he moved into her, penetrating her so completely she shook. She stroked his back with her hands, urging him on, and it was only then that I noticed his back was entirely covered with faded scars. Perhaps this was why he had kept himself clothed for so long, had lain on his back at first. As with his confession of his unusual desires, with the way he had stolen her taste from my cock, I was overwhelmed by curiosity and awe. I had never been party to anything like this before--a wise king never reveals his weaknesses, especially when it comes to matters of power and love.

Even as her voice grew higher and louder, even as she convulsed with the release she had craved for so long, her breasts bobbing underneath him, I could only think of what he must have gone through to get to where he was. I knew he had wrested power from the previous Caliph through a coup, but such is the way power often changes hands, both here and in Rome. Had he acquired those scars when he had been but an insurgent, a rebel? Or had he been whipped for a different crime? Perhaps the dread hundred lashes of adultery they had spoken of? A part of me wanted to believe this, that he had received the lashes because of love rather than war--perhaps even because of his love for her, for did he clearly not love her more than he loved his kingdom? 

And it shamed me that even when witnessing such a love as theirs, my own greed consumed me once more--for now, as he let go and pounded into her like a beast, my gaze was drawn between his legs. How could it not be? For I was so close to them I could clearly see the colour of his anus, a dark pink peeking from between his buttocks, all of him shaven just as she was. With a loud groan, he trembled on top of her, his back arched taut like a bow--and it was then that a drop of sweat slid down his back and between his buttocks, spreading upon his hole like a kiss. My mouth watered. I had never tasted a man there, but God help me, I wanted to, now, wanted to bury my tongue inside of him--

\--and he roared, she screamed, he now pinning her wrists to the bed as he savaged her, his hips striking into her with such force she was pushed deep into the mattress with each thrust. Pillows fell off the bed as he claimed her, as I saw his balls tighten so violently that he wailed, over and over as he shot his seed into her. That pink hole, too, clenched, as if drawing an invisible finger into itself, and he kept on thrusting, thrashing on top of her. He sobbed, writhed, clutched her to himself so tight she was lifted off the bed, pulled half into his lap as he shuddered his last within her flesh.

"I love you," he sobbed so quietly, perhaps so quietly he thought I would not hear, "I love you, love you, love you," he kissed upon her lips, and she returned his love with kisses of her own, answering each "I love you" with one of her own. "My beast," she whispered, her golden eyes slitted, utterly content. "My beast of beasts," she sighed with one last kiss, then fell slack in his arms, and never in my life had I seen a woman smile the way she now smiled. I have heard whispers that the shah is, in fact a magician; that he can summon djinn and cast spells. I needed no further proof of his powers than the enchantment I now saw writ upon her face.

With a sated groan, he fell beside her, beckoning to me with his hand. "I hope you do not think us poor hosts. Come, rest with us for a while." 

And between them, within the glow of their love I basked, gladly. The warmth of their contentment, their languor so drugged me that my erection subsided and together, we dozed for a while. Thus, we spent an hour, two; more relaxed in each other's company than we had ever been. We only left the bed to use the washing room, to fetch a new bottle of wine, to enjoy sweetmeats made of rose petals and dried fruit. 

Between these, we exchanged kisses, caresses, embraces until I found myself between my queen's legs, marvelling at her cunny as if it were made of roses and sugar itself. I glanced at Jaffar and he gave me the permission to adore her so, provided I only used my mouth and my hands. 

She shot him a scolding glance. "If he wouldn't have given you permission, I would've tied him down and made him watch as you did it," she grumbled.

"It's as if you are _trying_ to rouse me again," he smirked, glancing down at his cock. 

"Perhaps I am--oh!" 

For I had cut her short by pressing a kiss upon her mound. I could not stop staring at her sex, at its glowing shade of pink, could not stop inhaling its sweetness. I marvelled at the way its petals parted as she clenched in arousal, inviting me inside of her. But it was Jaffar who slid his hand onto her mound, parting its white-and-pink lips, the light brown of his long fingers a sweet contrast to her fairness as he so displayed her. Again, she gasped and her cunny tightened; to be so offered to another man, her husband now turned the pimp, the panderer! She made a movement with her hand as if to cover her face in shame, but he tutted, drew his fingers back a little and pinched her clitoris between them. 

"No, no, no, my dear. Look him in the eye. Tell him what you want." 

Bucking against his hand, she groaned. He but tightened the grip of his fingers, rubbing her until her folds parted further and I could see she was gleaming, aroused once more. 

"Please, Theo..." she turned her face away from Jaffar, who was now smirking like a demon.

"'Please, Theo,' what?" Jaffar said.

She swallowed and met my eyes. "Would you kiss it?"

I smiled at her gently. "You only had to ask, my lady."

For tonight was a night of unmanly acts, and by now, I relished each and every one of them. With great delight, I abandoned myself to the task: as she had pleasured me with her mouth, I now pleasured her with mine. I sucked upon her folds, sucked at their sugar, their salt; dipped my tongue deep inside her for a tease before I made my way to where she truly wanted me. I hovered my lips over that little peak of flesh, now so swollen between her master's fingers, pausing for such a long while she had to finally look at me again.

"Please, Theo."

I was not as monstrous as her husband when it came to the teasing game, I must admit: besides, I desired to suck her as much as I desired to suck him. For was this not the part on a woman's body that corresponded to the prick, and was I not a sodomite? I was hard against the sheets, hard as I rested fully upon the bed and buried my face in her cunny, sucking her clitoris into my mouth. And oh, the way she flowed with nectar over my chin as together, Jaffar and I sucked and rubbed at her flesh. Her soft cries of pleasure slid down my spine and pooled in my hips, rocking them against the bed. Her cries and his warm croons, his chuckles as he kissed her mouth, nipped her breasts, capturing her gasps with his own mouth--no minstrel could strike a tune as sweet as the one we now played upon her body. 

He kissed her so violently she screamed, so that I could swear her clitoris swelled in my mouth, leapt as a prick does. She was now so wet, even wetter as he took both of his hands and squeezed her breasts in them, cruelly, clawing them, pinching her so that she was thrusting against my mouth. Her hips lifted off the bed and I knew she was close: gently, I slid two of my fingers inside her, tilting my hand so as to find the spots that would trigger her release.

Again, she screamed, tearing her mouth from his, staring down at herself as she rode my hand, as if her hips were moving of their own volition. "Please, oh, there, there, please curl them, please--" I had barely started when she _howled_ , tossed upon the bed as she came over my fingers, onto my mouth, jerking against his lips and his hands. I prolonged her release for as long as I could, curling my fingers softly, sucking and lapping at her, drinking in her tremors until she finally fell back on the sheets, glassy-eyed. And even greater than my arousal was my pride, pride from having given her this, considering the kind of lover she had been accustomed to. I may not have been a king and might never become one, but never let it be said I cannot pleasure a woman. 

I had to pull back for breath and so did he, staring at my mouth, staring. Indeed, my lips felt swollen, must have been red, and the entire lower half of my face was wet from her sweetness. He let go of her and turned to me instead, lifting me until we were kneeling face to face. He sunk his fingers into my hair and lifted my face to meet his; I expected a kiss. Instead, he _licked_ my mouth, my chin, purring against me like a giant cat devouring a piece of flesh. I moaned, shuddered in his embrace, tried to draw him into a deeper kiss, my cock hard against his stomach.

But it was she who whispered: "Give him your tongue," and with a helpless cry, I did. Only then did he descend upon my mouth fully, sucking at my tongue with such force that I shouted, for the sensation sent sharp shocks down my entire body, making my hair stand on end. He gripped my hair with both hands, tightened his fists until tears sprang to my eyes and he but sucked and sucked, fucked my mouth with his until my cock was dripping, _dripping_ against his belly.

When he pulled back for breath, his eyes were feral, full of wicked mirth. I felt so little, so hopeless, crushed under his lust, my own. I could bear it no longer. "Take me," I whispered, so ashamed of the words I had to cast my eyes down, had to bury my face against his shoulder and embrace him, rock against him, to plead once again to make sure he had heard me. "Please. Take me."

It was then that she moved to kneel behind me, separating me from him, sliding her hands between my legs. She had shaved me but half an hour ago, and now I shivered as I felt the softness of her hands upon the bare skin of my sack, between my buttocks. And before us he stood, watching me, drinking in my state of confusion and arousal as she stroked my cock for him, presented me to him. He stared at me so I could not close my eyes, not even as she pressed a fingertip to my anus, making me cry out helplessly in her embrace. 

"You would have my husband take you?" she whispered in my ear, caressing my cock with her palm.

"Yes," I said, daring to meet his gaze, to lay my hands upon his chest.

He looked at my hands, then slowly clasped them with his, his red mouth curved in a snarl of a smile. "Then I shall, my dear Theo. However, there is but one condition."

"Anything," I stammered as he moved closer, pressing his body against mine. The sensation was so different from pressing into a boy, oh, my cock against an adult man's, against the hardness of his body. To be embraced by one with such strength, to myself be the one being taken--God help me, in that moment I wanted him to _tear me apart_. "Anything."

With a darkly amused smile, he took my hands and wrapped them around his cock. It felt like a brand against my hands, my palms still cool from shock. I wanted to feel this thickness, this length inside of me, stretching me to the point of pain, for the pulse now beating against my palms to beat deep inside my guts. "Please. What is it that you wish for, my king? Command me and I shall obey."

"My sweet, sweet Theo," he crooned, fluttering his fingertips across my cock, leaning in to brush his wet lips against my ear. "I would have you pleasure me first." 

With that, he left me and laid down upon the bed, left me shaking against Yassamin's body, she now laughing over my shoulder, daubing her fingers into the string of wetness left dangling from my cock. 

"My husband means that he would have you take him."

"Oh, God--!"

But she dipped her fingers into my mouth, humming softly. "Mmm. I would see these lips pleasure him first." She moved her hand back onto my cock. "And then, perhaps, you could pleasure him with this, should he desire it." She nodded towards Jaffar, he now leaning back against his cushions, stroking himself in invitation. "That is your king's wish, and mine. Would you like to try?"

My mouth felt dry, but I swallowed, nodded. "I would give him pleasure."

She chuckled and smacked my buttock. "Then tarry no longer. Come."

Entranced, I now moved to kneel between his legs; every sensation was magnified a thousandfold, exaggerated as if by opium. As my knees dipped into the mattress, I felt I was sinking into a swamp; the bedcurtains around me the vivid, pulsing red of flesh, of blood. As I clasped his thighs with my hands, the hair on them felt sharp, striking sparks through my palms. As he dipped his thumb into the slit of his cock and lifted a drop for me to taste, just as she had offered me a taste of myself, I moaned before I even closed my mouth around it. He tasted wonderful; oh, of the salt of the sea, with a shocking undertone of sweetness, the sweetness of a woman's cunny. 

I had closed my eyes to better savour him, but now opened them again to meet his gaze as I lowered my mouth to kiss his cock, hovering just above it. And the look in his eyes--he was staring at me, wide-eyed, in awe--in that moment I felt shaken by the vulnerability I glimpsed in them, of this desire he could not fight, the desire that might turn into his ruin. His lips moved a little but he made no sound; it looked as if a plea died upon them, slain by his pride. Instead, he lifted his hand to caress my ear, beckoning for me to continue.

As I lifted his cock to my lips and kissed it, his eyes fell shut and he quivered upon the bed. I was a little cruel, made sure to rub my mouth all over him, to let my stubble remind him that I was not a woman, that I was no beardless boy. Never taking my eyes off him, I licked up his cock, relishing its taste, sucked and lapped along its length, seeking traces of his wife's sweetness upon it. Finally, I closed my mouth around him to better feel his pulse against my tongue--there, there, and his cock leapt in my mouth, gifting me with a drop of salt upon my tongue.

"My God," he moaned, his fingers clenching and unclenching upon the sheets.

She laughed and kissed me as I pulled back for breath, clasping her hand over mine so we could both stroke him at once. "Well done." 

She, in turn, wanted a taste, sliding her mouth down his cock, wetting it with her saliva the way she had wet me earlier that night. It was a lewd sight, his cock gleaming from her spit, and greedily, I swallowed his cock in turn, sucking off her spittle. It tasted of the rose candy she had been eating and I moaned, moaned and hummed from the delight of being able to taste them both so. By now, he was moaning louder than I, louder as she and I pleasured him faster and faster, both licking his cock at once, guiding it to dip into her mouth, then mine, then back into hers again. Thus, we tormented him, sucked every last drop of his arousal into our mouths. 

By the time she was guiding my head with her hands, teaching me how to push my tongue out, how to relax my throat, Jaffar was breathing so fast, his belly trembling so that I knew he was close to orgasm. With a frustrated roar, he pushed my head back, his cock landing upon his belly with a wet smack. "Enough!" He collapsed onto the cushions, panting. "You are both beasts."

"But we have only just started, my dear," she purred, spread his thighs, then turned to me. "I leave him to you, my dear Theo. I shall be content to watch." 

Thus, she left us, and he pulled me into his arms for a kiss, allowing both of us to slow down for a while. Happily, I fell into his embrace, allowing him to take my mouth. He was so skilled at the art of kissing I had never experienced anything like it before: he was in no hurry as he claimed every part of my mouth with his, first with soft sucks of my lips, then with hard, shameless, rude licks, his tongue curling to taste me as deep as it could. When we were both breathless once more, my face burning from his moustache, he grinned, his eyes thin slits. He didn't say a word, only pushed me down by the shoulders and I slid between his legs, ready to take his cock into my mouth once more.

But oh, no, this was not what he wanted. Astonished, I watched as he bent himself double, lifted his thighs, spread them far apart. There was no mistaking his intent, yet he still brought his hands between his buttocks and parted them, guided his fingertips to frame his anus. Pink, a little swollen--I remembered his hints of her enjoying taking him, although I knew not how. It clenched a little between his fingers, as if pursing itself in anticipation. 

"Do not fear it, my friend. I have cleaned myself just as I know you have done," he smirked. "Come, would you not return my kiss?" he smiled, brushing his fingertips over his anus. 

I did not fear the act; it was only that I desired it so much I did not know what to do. I stared at his arse, stared at it as it clenched before me once more, only smelling of fresh sweat and rosewater. I had never done this, had never had anyone do it to me because it was a sin few people even knew of, let alone spoke of, and here I was, about to perform it upon a king. It was one thing to kiss a king's hand, to prostrate at his feet: that was nothing compared to the ultimate act of submission and adoration I was about to perform. The realisation of this filled my heart with a perverse gladness, the gladness of an ecstatic as he leaves himself in the hands of Providence. This night had brought me here, to this point, and all the sins I had committed with them I had committed willingly. And willingly, I now offered my mouth to him, to accept his offering in turn.

I pressed my lips to his anus and trembled, trembled.

But it was now he who gasped, threw his head back, his cock twitching upon his stomach. I repeated the kiss, flicking my tongue out a little this time, and he twisted in another direction, his thighs shaking around my head. The rosewater had not washed off all his salt, and the taste I now felt upon my tongue was more metallic, deeper, muskier than that of hers. I had to pull back to admire his arse again, to spread it a little with my thumbs on either side: watch as the now-flushed folds tightened, then swelled again as I massaged them with my thumbs, with my tongue. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" she murmured, her hand lazy on her cunny, her eyes full of love. 

"Yes. It's as beautiful as my lady's."

Jaffar burst into laughter, then jerked back, laughing more as his arse clenched against my tongue, as if my touch was now tickling him. "Are you saying I have a lady's arse?" 

She gifted him with a little kiss. "But you do, my love." 

"I shall take that as a compliment--oh--" his voice broke, for I was now eager to taste him deeper, dipping my tongue into the folds, seeing if I could loosen them this way. 

"That's it," she nodded, amused. "Make your tongue as stiff as possible and sink it inside him as if you were taking him; sometimes even that is enough to undo him."

"Quiet!" he hissed, flushing all over in shame, groaning as his wife revealed his secrets so, but I could tell he was relishing the sweet humiliation. He certainly did not complain as I took her advice, stiffened my tongue and pushed it so deep inside him my cheekbones ground against the bones of his pelvis. No, he spread his legs even wider and _mewled,_ little hopeless sounds breaking from his lips as I thrust my face into his arse again and again, undoing the knot of muscle with my tongue. 

Soon, my tongue ached, my jaw was stiff, but oh, the taste, the sensations: the muscles of his arse, his pulse now fluttering around my tongue, his body sucking at me with its own tight heat. When I withdrew my tongue into my mouth I rolled it against my palate to savour his taste. The flavour of salt was now stronger, as was the taste of roses, and my cock, that sinner of sinners approved of my mouth's shameless enjoyment.

Greedy, I sucked on my thumb and pressed it to his anus, searching his eyes for permission. With a nod, he not only allowed me to dip it inside of him, but ground his hips onto it with a deep croon of delight, at last freeing one of his hands to stroke his cock. "Don't stop," he hissed from between his teeth. "Don't stop."

"I have no intention of doing so, my king," I promised, leaning forwards to steal a suck upon his cock. I tugged with my thumb and felt his cock twitch against my tongue in delight, so I repeated the movement, over and over until my thumb was completely buried within his flesh, until he was quivering taut, barely breathing. It was as if he was trying to say something, but Yassamin--seemingly from experience--only smiled and fetched the orange blossom oil. 

"He's ready," she whispered as she opened the jar.

Yet it was me she leaned towards and swiftly, she wrapped her slickened hand around my cock. The oil was a cool shock upon my heated flesh and I gasped, staggering so that I had to remove my thumb from him, to balance my hands upon his thighs instead. "I apologise. She caught me off guard."

"She is rather good at that," he chuckled and turned onto his side, scooping up a little oil himself. He laid there, slowly dipping a few fingers inside of himself, stroking his cock as he watched her stroke mine. For long moments, there was but silence: they exchanged glances loaded with such meaning I did not want to interrupt this wordless communication between husband and wife. I could only guess at what they were thinking: perhaps this was something he had talked to her about at length, perhaps the small frown I saw upon his face was that of concern, of doubt over his own desires. And perhaps that tenderness I now spied upon her face was that of reassurance, for I felt that she was offering me to him as a gift, exactly because she loved him so, exactly because she wanted to sate his every desire. 

And gladly, I let myself be the instrument of their love; gladly, I let myself be guided by her to rest spooned against his back, my cock now pressed between his buttocks. Still a little uncertain, he turned to look at me over his shoulder. I could not bear to see him so; therefore, I kissed him. With all the tenderness I could muster, I caressed his arms, his sides, his hips. "They are a lady's hips," I murmured, making light of it. 

"And you have a woman's mouth," he murmured against my lips. "Yet I would have you love me like a man," he said quietly, closing his eyes quickly as if he had revealed too much, but there was no turning back now. 

I lifted the strands of hair that covered his neck and pressed a kiss there, a soft kiss, tasting sweat and his perfumes of musk and ambergris. I felt such a fierce tenderness, such a fierce care for him in my heart it was as if my chest would split. "I shall love you like a man loves a man, Jaffar," I whispered against his curls as I started to press inside his flesh. "If you will but take me."

He buried his face in his arm, sobbing a little as his muscles cramped around me, his breathing turning deliberately slow and deep as he forced himself to relax. "Slowly, oh, God, slowly--"

Softly, I kissed his shoulders, pulled all the way out and dipped inside of him again, slowly stretching him thus, adding a little more oil whenever it seemed he was feeling the most pain. When I was finally inside him completely he shuddered, spasmed a little, staring into the distance, his hands trembling upon the sheets. Over the curve of his hip, I could now see his cock was softening. Was he thinking of older male lovers, of brutalities? It was clear his wife had taken him, but was she so different that the worst of the memories should only come flooding back now? Again, the tenderness I felt for him tore at my breast, for we had both experienced the same things, had both been taken when we were too young to defend ourselves. Yet this was different, and I set out to prove it by hugging him tight to myself and rocking into him with the sweetest movements I was capable of, the ones I always used to make my lovers melt upon the sheets.

And within my embrace, he, too, slowly melted: his trembling subsided, the cold sweat upon his skin dried and he breathed more easily. He turned to me again, clasping my cheek with his hand, drinking in my kisses as he slowly undulated upon my cock. "That feels wonderful," he purred, his old lascivious smile returning to his lips. 

I countered with a grin of my own, sliding my hand to his cock, urging it to return to its previous fullness. I crooned into his ear as I rolled my hips, deliberately lowering my voice to that register she had compared to a tiger's. "Is this the pleasure you were looking for, my king? A fat _prick?_ " 

"Yes," he gasped, his voice breaking a little, his cock swelling in my fist.

Oh, but this was delightful. "Is this what you wanted?" I dared tease him still. "To be taken like this? To be _fucked?_ "

At that, he _howled,_ clenched around me so violently it hurt; oh, the heat of his arse so tight around my cock I nearly came undone there and then. He clasped my hand with his, urging me to stroke him faster, to move into him faster. And so I did, pounding into him, torturing him with cruel thrusts and sweet taunts until he buried his face into the sheets and moaned. "I am going to make you pay for this, you swine, oh, you just wait until it is you underneath me--" 

"I look forward to it," I panted, bit into his neck and at that he howled again, shook, pulled my hand off his cock. His arse was now loosening and tightening so rapidly I knew he was close, so I slowed down inside him. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," he growled and slid off me. Before I could protest, he had wrestled me down onto the bed and straddled me, sunk onto my cock as if he had never felt any pain at all. He clutched at my sides with his thighs, trapping me underneath himself. "There," he said with a little huffing laugh. "I find this arrangement much more agreeable, don't you?"

"I know I do," she said as she knelt next to us, giving me a soft kiss, then taking Jaffar by his cock. "You look beautiful, husband." 

I could smell her sweet wetness; see she was flushed all over, heady with the pleasure she drew from watching us. On a whim, I took her by the hips and guided her to sit upon my face, and there we played for a while: I thought myself the luckiest of the lot, enjoying both the pleasures of the cunny and the arse at once. She was so heated she was on the brink by the time she laid her cunny to my lips; so hungry she now swallowed Jaffar's cock, each of her gags making her grind her hips against my mouth faster and faster. But it was Jaffar at whose hands she came undone: without warning, he plunged two of his fingers into her arse and hooked them, tugged with them until she screamed around his cock, screamed and wet my face with the force of her release. Streaks of it ran down the sides of my mouth and I was shocked, at first thinking she had urinated upon my face, but no: the fluid was clear, sweet. 

"Did she come like the eunuch again?" Jaffar laughed, hugging her against himself. "There are spots within a woman's body that correspond to the male pleasure gland," he explained, grinning as he angled his own arse so that my cock would best meet his. "Should I show him yours sometime, my dear?" he asked her with a kiss. 

"Mmm. Later. I would see you wet his belly, however."

Jaffar let go of her with a chuckle and placed one hand on my chest, stroking his cock with the other. "You heard the lady."

Gladly, I lay where I was, being so ridden, so used by him. I may have been the one penetrating him, but I was the one being taken, not he. And oh, how I relished him dancing upon me--how he must've been like as a boy, riding men's hips like this! And judging by the look upon his face, it was no wonder he yearned for the pleasure even as an adult. He keened, slammed his hips down upon me in a furious rhythm, pausing now and then to rock them the way she had done upon him. What he did with the muscles of his hips, his belly was unbelievable; it was as if his entire body was sucking me in, up into himself--the sap was rising in me so that I did not know how long I could last, my balls drawn high and tight. Each time I hit the seat of his pleasure, each time he made a noise more fluid would drip out of his cock, loose strings of arousal now glimmering, dangling suspended between his cock and my belly. 

At last, he pressed his hand to my collarbone, pinned me in place and curved on top of my body, shaking, his hand blurring on his cock. His hand choked me, but worse were his eyes, now transfixing me, commanding me wordlessly to _Come, come inside me, flood me_. Unable to even make a sound, I spasmed where I lay, in shock as violent orgasm took me by surprise. Quickly, the shock was blasted away by wave upon wave of pleasure crashing through me, pulsing, blazing through me from my balls to my cock to my toes to my fingertips to the very top of my skull. Gasping for air, I shot my seed inside him, in awe as the contractions of my release seemed to go on forever, each wave making more sperm pulse out of my cock to be sucked greedily into his tight, wet heat. 

And on top of me, he waited, waited: only when he felt my sperm leaking out of him did he let himself go, plunging himself onto my cock over and over, roaring, splashing in thick, white ribbons upon my belly. His voice grew higher and higher as he wrung each drop, each tremor out of me, out of himself until he finally fell upon me, with but wordless whimpers snapping in his throat.

She was quick to embrace us, to cover us in kisses. As she kissed both of us in turn, I gasped in shock as I felt her fingers where my body joined his. She played with my fluids, with his opening so stretched around my cock, and Jaffar, too, moaned into her mouth. She moved behind us to relish the sight, something she had clearly been waiting for, spreading her husband's buttocks to better see where I entered his body. "You're beautiful," she murmured, to both of us, and it was then that I felt her tongue upon my cock, lapping up my seed. She gasped, laughing a little, as if unable to believe that she was now doing this, tracing the ring of his anus around my cock with her tongue. I was now softening, very sensitive, but the soft wet touch made my cock pulse with pleasure within his flesh, even more so when he clenched around it, clenched so violently I now slipped out of him. 

He lifted himself onto all fours and amidst his kisses, from between his legs I could now see she was nuzzling his balls, hesitating a little--but it was then that he cried against my ear, shuddered and I knew then that she was feasting upon his arse. I, too, cried out as I saw it, saw my sperm dripping down her chin, heard her wet sucks, her sinner's whimpers as she could not help herself. She attacked his arse with her face, pressed so deep into him Jaffar was pushed forwards, grinding his forehead against my shoulder. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God--" he wailed, in pleasure and in disbelief.

"Fair is fair," she gasped as she pulled back for air, then licked me, too, my cock aching as she closed her mouth around it to suck off every last drop, every last hint of his taste. In that moment I wondered if I would make it out of this bedchamber alive, if they would find me dead in the morning, dead from sheer erotic exhaustion. Such was the pleasure-pain she now gave me, yet again my own perverse nature--perhaps it was some twisted form of pride--relished being so consumed.

His every limb shaking, Jaffar collapsed beside me, groaning. "Yassamin, you are an insatiable little minx."

She climbed in between us, offering him our taste from her lips. "A perfect match for my master, then."

I laughed and wrapped my arm around her, nestling into her softness, happy, relieved. "Both of you astound me. Never have I seen the like." She I could understand, for women can often outlast men, but to think that he was approaching fifty! From the way he had so taken me, from the way he had triggered my release with a mere look, I wondered if the stories of his magic were not true. "I would sell my soul to the Devil to have your skill."

His eyes flashed with warning, but quickly he masked this by adopting a playful grin. "Just as every man has his guardian angel, so he has a guardian demoness," he said. "The truly great soul is the one who, like the prophets, confronts his devil and chains her, so that she will obey his every command." He smacked her buttocks, leering. "Wouldn't you say that was true, my dear?" 

She smacked him back harder, poking her finger into his ribs until he squirmed, yelped. "Who says you are not the devil and I the devil-tamer? You are the beastlier one of us, that much I know."

Laughing, he sunk his fingers into her hair, pulling, twisting until they both stopped laughing, until she quivered, hanging taut from his hands. "And you do so love your beast," he breathed against her mouth, nipping at her lips with his teeth. 

"Yes," she gasped. 

"Don't you?" he said as if he had not heard her, slapping one of her breasts, then the other. "Don't you?" 

"Yes!" she whimpered, shuddering between us as he continued to slap her breasts, her buttocks pressing against my half-hard cock. And the louder she became, the harder I grew, again strangely aroused by the crueller forms of their play. I was breathing faster, staring at them in awe, and it was then that he bit into her neck, fixing his eyes upon me. She cried out and he let go, licking his lips.

"What would our friend Theo think of the beast, I wonder?" he smiled, running his eyes up and down my flushed body, then turned to her before I could answer. He shook her by the hair. "Would you like to see me take him as I take you?"

 _Yes,_ I all but screamed, yet bit my tongue.

"Yes," she moaned out loud, tears at the corners of her eyes as he let go of her, left her panting. She turned to me as if to escape his violence, pressed her soft breasts to my chest, pressed her lips to mine. When she drew back from the kiss, her eyes were wide, feverish. "It is a pleasure unlike any other. Would you not experience it?"

I hugged her to my chest, laughing awkwardly as he smiled down upon me. "I would experience it," I said, quietly, swallowing. For had I not dreamt of this since the day I had met him? But now that the hour was finally upon me, I was frightened, scared. Even pressed against her flesh, my cock softened again. "What would you have me do?" I asked, suddenly feeling very young, very helpless.

He moved to lie over me, covering me with his shadow and I felt myself cowering underneath him still. Yet, the look in his eyes was serious, sincere. "I would see you surrender, see you take pleasure in being taken by a man," he whispered as he kissed my jaw, my throat. "You yourself begged to be taken, yet you still hesitate, and I would not violate the uncertain. I would not have a passive slave underneath me, but one who was slave to pleasure alone." He slid his hands to my hips. "Sometimes my queen needs the beast to help her forget her shame, to allow her to enjoy her hidden desires without guilt. Is this not true of you also?"

And he was right, right; I had wanted him, had wanted the beast, for it was his power that had first attracted me to him. The way he had carried himself, the way he had commanded his subjects, the way he had made his queen reel underneath his caresses. For there was a craving within me to be conquered, to receive that pleasure-pain myself, to have myself turned inside out so that I would not have to be ashamed. And from the moment I had met him, I had known that only a man like he could truly break through my resistance, gaze upon my sins and relish them, touch me as I had for so long yearned to be touched.

"Yes," I whispered and they pulled me into kisses, drowned me in caresses, hugging me tight against themselves. _I would see you surrender,_ his words echoed through me as I swooned between them, and I tried my best as I let myself fall into their embraces. By the time we were all breathless, he nodded to her. 

"Get the jade," he murmured to her, staring hungrily into my eyes. "I would have him all to myself this time."

"To hear is to obey," she smirked and from underneath the pillows, she pulled out a most fascinating object: a green phallus made of stone. This, she now rested upon her mound as she laid back to watch us, rubbing herself gently with it. 

I stared at her, and he but chuckled. "Perhaps I shall let you borrow it sometime." He took my hands and laid himself down on top of me with his full weight, deliberately pressing me into the mattress. "Now. Where were we?"

My heart was pounding, a sudden giddiness, lightness coming over me. "I believe I was about to be introduced to a beast." 

"Mm-hmm," he purred, flexing his muscles, stretching atop me with the sinuousness of a cat. "Stay still."

I expected him to attack me, yet to my surprise, he began to cover my body with the most tender of kisses, kisses that were too light to give true pleasure, only enough to tease. He kneaded my body with his hands as if to possess every square inch of it, as if to see if he could mould me into a new shape entirely, one that pleased him. He slid his hands over my muscles, sucking lightly at my arms, lifting my legs to better reach the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs. It was then that he pinched my thigh and I jerked underneath him, looking at him askance. 

"Does this please you?" he smirked.

"I don't know, I--oh!" I cried as he followed the pinch with the lightest of slaps. "Please."

"Please...?"

"Please, continue," I panted, letting my head loll onto the pillows. 

The next touch I could feel was that of his tongue: with a satisfied sigh, he settled between my legs and licked, licked my inner thighs, my now-bare sack, my equally bare perineum. I whimpered and pushed back into his touches, but yelped in shock when he pinched those parts, too, slapped them lightly, then soothed them with further kisses. 

I gasped but made no movement to stop him, his laughter now a sweet rumble against my balls. Again, he nipped, oh, so very lightly, and instead of shrinking in pain, I realised my balls were swelling, my cock was swelling--never had I imagined I could relish a little pain so. Reflexively, I slipped my hands underneath my knees and spread my thighs. "Please--"

"Mm-hmm?" And it was then that he spat, _spat_ upon my perineum so that a streak of saliva ran, slid down it. I trembled as the cool slickness of it slipped over my anus, but now he leaned over it and _blew_. I shivered, my hands shaking as cool wave upon cool wave of pleasure rippled through my body. Yet he did not stop, only nuzzled me there, his moustache a sharp scratch against my shaven skin.

"You're glowing red, but not red enough," he said, smacking my buttocks, thighs, smacking them until I was twisting, panting upon the bed. And God help me, I relished it, relished the sting, the heat now spreading through my flesh from the sharp, merciless strokes of his hands. His hands, oh, with his beautiful, long-fingered hands he now tortured me, pausing now and then to pinch and squeeze until the redness of my flesh turned white underneath his fingertips, until my thighs and buttocks were covered in little red half-moons left by his fingernails. 

Finally, he finished with a sharp snap right over my hole and I cried out in pain, now knowing why she had screamed underneath him so. For I found my voice high, wailing, embarrassingly high as he blew over my anus once more. He licked his lips and I knew what he wanted, found myself panicking. I wanted it, wanted him to kiss me there, but some shame still clung to me, even as he was tearing down its walls with his very breath. "No one has ever--"

He quirked his eyebrow. "Then I shall make sure you will not forget your first time." Helpless, I watched as he leaned down between my legs, closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Despite having given it to him myself, I could never have imagined pleasure of the like I was now experiencing, again hearing myself wailing as he began to slowly kiss my anus. I clenched against his tongue in shock, my cock dragging across my belly, spurting salt into my navel as I lay there, all of me overwhelmed by what he was now giving me. I clutched at the sheets, clutched at my body, clutched at his hair, my feet twitching upon the bed; I wanted to crawl out of my skin, so unbearable was the pleasure I now felt, all of me but hot, wet, hungry flesh. Yes, I felt as if all of me was concentrated upon my arse, as if I became but that arse, only existing for the sinuous, slick tongue now opening me, penetrating me with ruthless greed and skill. 

"Enjoying yourself?" he huffed from between crooked teeth as he drew back for breath. 

My voice was weak, weaker still as he smiled at me, licked his lips, savouring my taste. "Please, don't stop," I said, clutching my thighs until my hands hurt. "Please." 

"Hold yourself open. I would go deeper."

Oh, how whorish I felt, how like a slave boy as I now moved my hands to my buttocks. I spread my fingers on either side of my anus, slipping a little with his saliva, tried to relax so as to yield as much of my flesh to him as I could. Never had I felt so naked, not even with the men who had taken me, never had I felt so exposed. 

Yet he rewarded me for this vulnerability, rewarded me like no lover had ever done: he pushed his face into me so that he could only huff through his nose as he tongued me, then pressed so hard his breathing stopped entirely. On and on he took me with his face, until my cleft was scratched raw from his moustache, on and on he spat into me until his saliva dripped down to the very small of my back. I shook, shook as I felt myself opening, felt my arse sucking him in as he pulled me open with his tongue. I was unfolding around him, surrendering just as he had told me to, all of me begging to be taken by him.

No, I could not bear it a moment longer and those pleas finally burst out of my mouth in torrents. I babbled, begged, prayed for him to take me, to let me feel him inside of me. He rose above me, tall, every inch the conqueror. He stroked his cock, now harder and crueller than I had ever seen it before, tilted his head as if appreciating me like a poem he had just perfected. His eyes did not seem human, rather demonic, yet the sinner in me loved them, loved the way they now measured me, feasted upon me, drank in my distress.

"Turn around."

I did as I was told, offering him my buttocks. From old habit, I pressed my face into the sheets to escape my own body, to escape my own shame, but he would not let me. He covered me with his body, with his weight, with his now-slickened prick pressing between my buttocks. He wrapped one of his arms around my neck so I all but choked; with the other, he tilted my head back so that he could kiss me. On and on, he rutted between my buttocks, letting me feel the heat, the hardness, the length of his cock. When I whimpered, he but laughed wetly into my ear. "Yes, my dear boy. All of this is going inside you." 

_Boy._ I kicked underneath him, I jerked. How did he know, how did he guess--but he did not let me move, only clutched me to himself tighter, holding me in a wrestler's grip, holding me until I was still. 

"You _would_ play the slave boy for me, wouldn't you, my good Theo?" he now crooned, guiding the tip of his cock to my anus, dipping it in a little, seeking the right angle to penetrate me from.

"Yes," I breathed, offering my mouth for another kiss, crying out onto his lips as he started to push inside. It hurt, oh, God, it hurt and I relished that, drank in each and every drop of the pain he was now giving me. I drank in the savagery with which he now forced himself into me, with which he now squeezed around my neck, cutting off my breath, the way he now whispered "There's a good little slave."

In the distance, I could hear Yassamin moaning, could hear the wet sounds of her hand, of her toy upon her cunny. How many times had he taken her like a slave, I wondered? Had it always been like this for them? She was the luckiest of women, I thought as his growls drowned out her moans, and I fancied that with them, he was also ordering her to be silent, for I heard nothing from her now. 

And oh, that growl, the way his chest rumbled against my back, the vibrations of it filling my ribcage as his cock now filled my arse, pushing ever deeper, the pain now sweeter than ever before. He leaned back to withdraw from me a little, only to push back inside and somehow, I resented the pain fading, resented the pleasure at first as he now slid inside me with greater ease. I could feel him applying more oil, felt him briefly withdraw from me altogether. Still, it was a greater shock as he now plunged deep inside of me once more, deeper than ever before: I choked as he pressed so deep my stomach lurched, his length and girth so great the pressure upon my bladder nearly made me void there and then. And the very idea of it, knowing he was beyond caring whether I wet the bed or not, knowing he would but laugh and continue made me moan even louder under his assault. I spasmed underneath him, tried to reach my cock to stroke it, but he pinned my wrists to the bed.

"It is for me to decide when you will come," he snarled, punctuating his words with brutal thrusts, "Is that understood?" 

"Yes, _master,_ " I panted, my tongue dry against the silk sheets, the very word making my cock pulse, drip. "Please, master."

"Now, there's a good boy. Lift your hips." 

He guided me to rest so that my head and arms were upon the bed, my arse lifted high. He stayed still for a while, but then, upon a cruel whim, he sunk his nails into my shoulders and dragged, _dragged_ them all the way to my buttocks, clawing at me, repeating the motion until I was screaming underneath him. 

Claws, screams, curled backs: this was no longer a mating of humans, but that of two beasts. As he began to pound into me faster and faster, sending my swollen cock and balls swinging painfully, I deliriously thought _whoever heard of the cheetah taking the tiger?_ The pleasure was so overwhelming I was close to passing out. 

"Please, please, please," I mewled underneath him like a she-cat, mewled as he clawed at my sides, my belly, leaving red welts in his wake.

He dragged one clawed hand to my cock and squeezed it painfully, stroking it as he snapped his hips into me with such force I was pushed forwards upon the bed. I spasmed, howled, howled as he slickened his fist with my arousal, howled as he rolled his hips to make me drip even more. "You _are_ a loud boy, aren't you? It was about time I shut your mouth."

And before I could protest, he had grabbed me by the hair and dragged me by it to where he was kneeling, offering his cock to my mouth. "Suck." 

I but stared, stared into his eyes, at the gleaming cock bobbing before me, gleaming red and wet, coated from its tip to its root with oil, with _myself._ I saw no filth, had made sure I was clean, had anticipated this somehow, yet shuddered when faced with the act in reality. Merciless, he twisted his hand in my hair and pried my mouth open with the other. "Taste the pleasure you yourself taught us, my friend," he purred with cruel satisfaction. "Open up, open up, that's it; let me see your tongue."

It was not as if I had a choice, and secretly I adored it, grateful that the responsibility had been taken from me. Thus, I closed my mouth around his cock and moaned like the shameless sodomite I was, tasting myself, orange blossoms and _Jaffar._ I now knew why they had relished the taste so, for it was much stronger than what he had let me sample earlier: I choked not only from the size of his cock, but of my own sobs, sobs at being granted such a forbidden pleasure. I worshipped his cock, worshipped him with my mouth until I had sucked off all the metal, all the salt, all the must: still, I sucked, undulating my tongue upon the spots I knew gave men most pleasure, cupping his balls in my hand. 

So focused was I on my task that he had to pull me back by the hair, snap his hips back as if burnt, and from the way his balls now rose, I knew he had been but seconds from ejaculating into my mouth. I wanted it, oh, I wanted it, but also wanted him back inside me. 

Thus, my hands found the orange blossom oil and with the briefest, fastest of flicks I coated his cock once more, then laid back upon the pillows. I lifted my legs and spread myself once more, pleading with my eyes, pleading with my lips, pleading with my entire body.

"Take me," I whispered, offering him my flesh for a bed, aching to have him inside me. 

His face was mad from the fury of his desire, his eyes so wild he was the very image of a heathen deity, of an enraged god of destruction. I quivered underneath him, quivered as he descended upon me and with but a few thrusts, penetrated me to my core. He did not say a word, only stared at me as he fucked me and listened as my voice shattered into a thousand splintered wails. He now took to clawing my chest, dragging his nails across my nipples, my belly to coax out more screams. His hair hung in strands over his forehead, over his cheeks, beads of sweat falling from his neck upon my chest, stinging in the welts. His eyes were glazed, now, his own pleasure so high he was now blazing between my legs, pure heat between my legs, my very spine creaking as he sped up his thrusts.

"Come," he grunted from between his teeth, "Come." 

This time, he allowed me to touch my cock, but even as I started tugging at it, I had already plunged off the brink, started to tumble into orgasm: each thrust of his hips sent such heat through my guts I only needed a few strokes to reach full release. He grabbed my hair once more, forced me to look into his eyes as I moaned, shouted underneath him: it was his cock rather than my hand that now forced my orgasm to pulse out of my body, onto my stomach in thick, fat splashes of white. It was he who guided the duration and strength of my tremors, dragging his cock slowly in and then out, then forcing a harder convulsion to crash through me with a brutal thrust of his hips. On and on I came, watching myself in disbelief as I kept spilling and spilling upon my stomach until the white fluid turned clear, until there was not a drop left in me. 

And still, he wouldn't stop. He huffed, wiped sweat off his brow, then leaned down to lap at my stomach. How he managed to do so while never leaving my body, I don't know, but he soon lifted, only to pass my sperm into my mouth from his tongue. With a soft sigh, he laced his fingers with mine and continued to kiss me, continued to move into me, until with a soft cry fluttering in his throat, he finally shuddered on top of me. He gathered me into his arms, clutching me, groaning against my shoulder as he released himself inside of me, shaking in ecstasy. 

"Theo--" he cried, "Theo," relishing me not like a slave boy but as an adult man relishes another. I held him as he continued to move within me long past his orgasm, kissing him until he was completely wet, soft, and finally slipped free.

Utterly boneless, sated, I turned him so I that I might lie on top of him, smiling with such joy my face ached. "Thank you, my king."

He clasped my hand in his and kissed it. "Thank _you._ "

"It is I who should thank you, my lords," Yassamin said as she laid herself down beside us, her eyes glowing with happiness. 

"And you are sated, too, my love, I take it?" he said as he greeted her with a kiss.

She nodded. "Most sated." She caressed my back, the welts he had made. "I hope he did not hurt you too much."

"No more than I wanted him to, my lady," I reassured her, taking a kiss from her in turn.

She pulled the bedcovers over us and there I rested, between their warm bodies, falling asleep within their embrace. 

***

So, there you have it, my brother: the truth and nothing more, nothing less. And it is with this truth that I must now bid you goodbye. Again, I must beg of you to burn this letter, for does this not amount to treason? Writing this, I again feel as if my head sits but very loosely upon my shoulders, yet it is an absolution to tell you these things. For I could not trust a priest to keep this secret, but I know you will, my brother, my confessor. Only you now know where my true loyalties lie, know that in my heart of hearts, I do no longer feel myself the subject of our Emperor. 

For now I have found my true king and my true queen, and at their feet have I lain my heart. 

With all my love,  
Theodoros

**Author's Note:**

> Annotations, disclaimers and random history geek blatherage for this fic can be found [here](http://snowgrouse.livejournal.com/2231579.html).


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